Tragic Twenty-Two
by PlumAddicted
Summary: Stephanie must get smart, dig deep and carry on in order to catch her skips, help the FBI, recover from loss of a loved one, and decide what to do about a marriage proposal. Takes place after Top Secret Twenty-One. Babe and Cupcake friendly.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Anything recognizable belongs to J. Evanovich. I am not profiting in any way...alas.

Chapter 1

I have two modes of thought that I call "Smart Stephanie" and "Stupid Stephanie". Right now I was definitely "Stupid Stephanie". I am a fugitive apprehension agent, which is a fancy name for bounty hunter. I work for my cousin Vinnie who runs Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. Vinnie bonds out all sorts of criminals for a percentage of the bond and the criminal avoids jail time until their court date. When they skip bail and fail to appear for their court date, I hunt them down and drag them back to jail until a new court date is set. Or at least, that's what I'm supposed to do.

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

Right now I'm sprinting down the street trying to catch 65-year old George Mann who is naked and covered in icing and gumdrop buttons. I don't really feel like catching him but I need the money to buy groceries.

"Stop Mr. Mann!" I yell as I chase him around the corner of my childhood neighborhood, Chambersburg, which is a chunk of Trenton, New Jersey which houses a mix of middle-class nationalities including old men who believe in fairy tales.

"For the last time", George called back, "Call me the Gingerbread Man!"

"No!" I yelled.

I stupidly thought that this would be an easy capture when I knocked on Mr. Mann's front door and he invited me in. I stepped into the kitchen and found him just putting the final touches on his candy decorations. I was so shocked that I didn't react when he opened the back door and started running down the street.

Apparently Mr. Mann was in good shape, probably from running every day. In fact, he was arrested for public indecency for his daily runs wearing only buttercream frosting. I, on the other hand, don't run every day. I have good intentions to run regularly, but thinking about it doesn't get you in shape.

Mr. Mann was gaining ground on me and I was losing interest, especially with clods of icing and candies falling off his body, exposing his 65-year old body underneath.

I stopped to catch my breath when he was a good quarter mile ahead of me. I realized I was in front of my parents' house and my grandma Mazur was on the front porch.

She walked over to me as I was hunched over and hyperventilating.

"Geez Louise," she exclaimed, "was that man covered in icing?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," I managed to say in between breaths.

"He's in good shape," she said, "He must run a lot."

"Y-y-y-yeah."

"I wonder if he's single. I betcha he's in great in the sack. Good stamina," she said, "What's his name?"

"G-g-george Mann," I said, "B-b-but he's a criminal."

"No big deal", Grandma said, "It can't be as bad as that serial killer I was dating. Or that guy with really bad breath."

Grandma was in her 70s and wasn't especially picky about her men. She lived with my parents after Grandpa bit the big one and has been reliving her 20s ever since.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" Grandma asked me.

"Y-y-yeah," I said.

"Would you be able to drive me to the funeral parlor at seven?" she asked, "Ivy Swathmary is laid out and I want to see if she really had one blue eye and one brown eye or whether she wore contacts to get men's attention."

"S-s-sure."

Flushed and sweaty, I made my way back to my car, a rusted out piece of junk that was a grey 1995 Ford Escape in a past life. I was feeling pretty dejected until I spotted Joe Morelli leaning against the side of my passenger-side door. Morelli is 6-feet of Italian libido, a muscular body, a plainclothes cop, and my kinda-boyfriend. He has brown wavy hair, whiskey-colored eyes and I can personally say that he's great in the sack.

"Hey cupcake," he said. "Did you just go for a run?"

"Kinda," I said. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you were going to be home tonight," he said.

"Yup." I said. The nice thing about being a bounty hunter is that I can work whatever hours I want.

"I'll drop by with pizza," he said. Then he leaned in and gave me a kiss with lots of tongue and promises of things later tonight. "See you later."

I drove to the bonds office on Hamilton to regroup and see if there were any new skips to track down. I found parking on the street and walked into the office to see Connie Risolli deep in thought behind the desk. Connie was the office manager and kept Vinnie's business running when he was off gambling or seeing women of questionable ethics. She was from an Italian mob family and looked like Betty Boop with a mustache. She was staring Lula, who was the file clerk and my backup on difficult takedowns.

"I just don't get it," Connie said.

Lula was dressed in a bright pink leopard tanktop and bright blue jeggings that tested the limits of spandex. Her hair was bright yellow which contrasted with her chocolate skin and was wearing multicolored ankle boots. Lula was a plus-size former 'ho but had kept her wardrobe. Her outfit wasn't different than any other day. Then she turned around.

"Why are you wearing glasses?" I asked.

"These here glasses make me look smart," Lula answered. "And I'm all about looking smart these days. I've been reading this book, 'How to do Everything Smarter", and it says people can tell how smart you are just by looking at you."

I looked down at my outfit. Short sleeve shirt, jeans, sneakers. I pondered what that said about me, and figured that if I wasn't covered in icing, I was doing pretty good.

"This book has tips on how to do everything smarter," Lula continued. "How to save money, eat better, and get ahead in life. My life is pretty awesome but I figured a little help in the other two wouldn't be bad."

I turned to Connie. "Anything new come in?" I asked.

"I've got two new ones," she said. "One is really hot."

I looked at the files. The 'hot' one was Nicholas Jones, a 37-year old bond forger from Hamilton Township who was arrested while cashing in one of his fake savings bonds at the bank. The other was a 24-year old street punk named Cruise Mendez who was arrested for drug possession and intent to sell in Newark, an hour away from Trenton.

"Why did Vinnie bond out a guy in Newark?" I asked Connie. Tracking him down is going to take a lot of gas and gas costs money.

Connie shrugged. "Who knows why Vinnie does the things he does?"

I turned to Lula. "Did you want to help me catch a 65-year old who thinks he's the Gingerbread Man?"

"Damn straight I do," Lula said. "I wanna see his gumdrop buttons."

* * *

After an afternoon of staking out Mr. Mann's house and taking him by surprise when he left his back door, I wrestled him to the ground and got handcuffs around his icing-covered wrists. In the scuffle, I managed to get covered in blue and pink frosting and there were gumdrops stuck in my hair.

"Where do you even get this much frosting?" I asked.

"I make it myself," he said.

I dropped George off at the police station and ran into Ranger on my way back out. If Morelli is my kinda-boyfriend, then I have no words to describe my relationship with Ranger. He's Cuban-American, ex-Special Forces, and owns an elite security company called Rangeman. He wears only black, drives sleek black cars, and has a dark and scary past. He's also sex walking and I personally know he is magic in bed.

"You look like dessert," he said.

"Before you get hungry you should know this icing came off of a naked old man," I said.

Ranger's lips tipped up at the corners. "That's why I don't normally eat dessert." He picked a gumdrop out of my hair and placed a kiss on my lips. Then he got into his black Porsche 911 Turbo and sped off.

I sighed and went home to take a shower. Normally I love cake, but it's going to be a while before I look at icing the same way again. I had just gotten dressed when there was a knock on my door and the sound of locks tumbling. Morelli let himself in and placed his keys and a box of pizza on my kitchen counter.

"Pepperoni?" I asked.

"Is there any other kind?" He answered. He took two plates out of the cupboard and placed two slices of pizza on each.

"Are we being fancy tonight?" I asked. Normally we just eat it straight out of the box while watching the Rangers game.

"Stephanie," he said, "I have something to tell you."

Whenever someone uses my full name, I know that nothing good is going to follow. When I was a teenager, my mom used my full name whenever I was in trouble. My ex-husband, Dickie, used to always call me Stephanie, that is, right up until I divorced him for screwing my arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt on our dining room table six months into our marriage.

"I have to work out of town for a while," Morelli said. "I leave tomorrow morning."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the catch?" I said.

"It's going to be two months," he said, "at the least."

"So I won't see you for a while," I said.

"So let's make this a night to remember," he said. He took my hand and pulled me towards the bedroom.

* * *

A few hours later, I was finishing up in the bathroom after a steamy shower with Morelli. I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the bathroom door. Morelli was down on one knee if front of me, holding a velvet box containing a diamond ring.

I was shocked. My towel dropped to the floor along with my jaw. Morelli's eyes dropped to my chest as he said, "Stephanie, will you marry me?"

"You've got to be kidding me!" I blurted out. Joe Morelli just proposed to my boobs.

Morelli's face looked like he just swallowed broken glass.

"I mean-" I tried backpedalling.

"Look Steph," Morelli said, standing up, "I love you and we're not getting any younger. Just think about it. I'll see you in a few months."

He placed the box into my hand, gave me a quick kiss on the lips, and left.

I don't know how long I stood there staring at the ring. It was a nice ring. Classic cut. Simple design. Massive implications. After my divorce to Dickie I promised myself I would never get married again. Did I love Joe? Sure. But I also love birthday cake. And my hamster Rex. And other things. I was starting to get cold and my hair was starting to dry into a frizz when I heard a throat clearing at my bedroom doorway.

It was Ranger. He was leaning up against the doorframe wearing a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, black boots, and a black windbreaker. I was wearing absolutely nothing.

"Eeek!" I screamed. The ring and box flew across the room as I dove under the blankets on my bed.

Ranger picked up the ring and placed in the box. He made his way over to the side of my bed and placed the box on the nightstand.

"What did you tell him?" he asked. He wanted to know what I told Morelli.

"I asked if he was joking," I admitted.

A quick laugh escaped Ranger's mouth. "I'm sure that went over well." He made direct eye contact with me. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know," I said. I decided to change the subject. "Why are you here?"

"I've come to say goodbye," he said.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"On a mission."

"When will you be back?"

"You ask a lot of questions." Ranger paused. He looked away from me and focused on something on the floor. I knew something was wrong. Ranger never breaks eye contact. I reached out and touched his arm.

"Ranger?" I said.

He stood up and looked at me. His face was full of emotion. If I tried to put a name to them it would be Pain. Regret. Apologies. Longing. The last time I saw those emotions of Ranger's face he had just entered my apartment completely unarmed to rescue his daughter and I from a murderous lunatic. It was the look of a man who knew he was going to die.

He turned and walked towards the door. "Goodbye Stephanie."

"No!" I yelled. I jumped up and ran over to him. "Tell me you're coming back."

His face was blank. "I can't."

"You're Ranger. You can do anything you want to."

"Not everything." He looked me up and down. I was still naked.

Ranger and I had a long history of sexual attraction. The first time he set foot in my apartment was to rescue me from being handcuffed naked to my shower rod. I had only known him for a few days. Over the years he has been my mentor, my friend, and on a few spectacular occasions, my lover.

I once asked him to come to Hawaii to pose as husband and wife to catch a skip. After a few magical days at a couples resort, Morelli unexpectedly showed up at the front door and sucker punched Ranger in the face. It ended when I stun gunned them both and left them in the hospital. I left Hawaii with a tan line on my ring finger and a pregnancy scare. I eventually made a choice between Morelli and Ranger and decided to try a serious relationship with Joe. It was easy and fun as long as we avoided arguing about topics such as my job and Ranger. But as much as I tried to keep Ranger at arm's length, I couldn't imagine my life without Ranger in it. I refused to now.

I pushed Ranger up against the wall. "You sound like you're already defeated. That isn't like you."

"Babe," he said.

"Come back to me," I said.

"Give me a reason."

Without conscious thought, I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. It was deep and desperate. Without breaking the kiss, he picked me up by my thighs and dropped me on the bed. Our arms and legs tangled around each other as we devoured each other.

Suddenly he stopped. I looked over to what caught his attention. Morelli's engagement ring was still on the nightstand. I opened the drawer, knocked the box inside and closed it.

"We're going to do this, Ranger," I said, "and it's going to be good."

* * *

It was 4:00 am when I woke up to a rustle of clothing. I sat up. Ranger was getting dressed beside the bed.

"I didn't want to wake you," Ranger said. He leaned down and kissed my hair.

"Don't get shot," I told him.

"Don't go crazy," he replied. It was our standard goodbye.

I watched him finish getting dressed and start towards the door. This could be the last time I saw him.

"Ranger," my voice cracked, "I love you."

"I know babe." His lip tipped up at the corner. "I love you too."

And then he was gone.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to try to get new chapters up as soon as I can. I'm writing this as I go. Help?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who wrote a review. I appreciate the feedback. I have the entire story in my head and without giving too much away, I just want to say: Babe fans, hang in there.

Chapter 2

It was 4:00 am on a Sunday morning, so I promptly fell back asleep. When I woke up again it was 10:00 and I was more ready to face the day. The previous night's events came flooding back to me. Morelli had proposed and I didn't give him a yes or no answer. I had slept with Ranger who may not make it back to wherever he's going. My stomach turned.

Deciding that I didn't want to think about either outcome, I took a quick shower, and got in my Ford Escape. I figured I would get out of Trenton and look for Cruise Mendez, the drug trafficking skip in Newark.

The address in his file had him listed in a neighborhood close to the one that Ranger grew up in. It was lower-middle class and Latino. Cruise lived in apartment 320 in an old building on a busy road. I found parking on the street beside a Catholic church and made my way up to the third floor. I knocked on his door. No answer. No surprise. He was probably off making drug deals.

I knocked on his neighbors' doors. Either they weren't home or they didn't know Cruise. I left the apartment building and went to the neighboring businesses. I walked into the laundromat and showed the lady behind the counter a picture of Cruise.

"Have you seen this man," I asked.

"No hablo Inglés," she said.

I didn't know Spanish, but I think she said no. I went into the hardware store, the pharmacy, and the convenience store. No one had seen Cruise, or at least admitted to it. I left my business cards and asked them to call me if they saw him. I bought a couple of tastycakes and a bottle of Coke and headed back to my car.

A lot about being a bounty hunter is sitting and waiting. Ranger calls this a stakeout. I call it purgatory. Not quite hell, but pretty damn close. I watched the street. I ate my snacks. I drank my coke. I reorganized my shoulder bag. I played Candy Crush. The afternoon stretched on.

For lack of something better to do, I read Nicholas Jones' file. He was 37 years old and had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He was arrested for forging savings bonds and cashing them in. I thought that was a pretty smart way to make money, you know, if it wasn't illegal. Sure beats sitting in a car.

Just as I was ready to call it a day and head back to Trenton, Cruise Mendez walked across the street right in front of my car and up the steps to the church. I grabbed my shoulder bag, locked my car, and followed him into the church.

Sunday mass was over but there were a few stragglers sitting on the pews. I didn't see Cruise right away so I sat down on the last pew. I looked up to the front of the church and said a quick prayer for Ranger, and one for forgiveness for the previous night's activities. I figured I looked a little suspicious, so I made my way over to the candles.

I was lighting a candle to guard over Ranger when a middle-aged Latino woman lit two candles beside mine.

"May God take care of our loved ones when it is out of our hands to do so," she said. She said a quiet prayer in Spanish and left.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Cruise leave the confessional booth and walk out of the church. I followed him, but by the time I got out to the street, he was long gone.

I cursed myself. If I had waited in the car I would have been able to take him down. Stupid Stephanie is impatient. Just then, Smart Stephanie piped up. Why was Cruise in confession when there wasn't a priest on the other side?

I re-entered the church and sat down in the confessional booth. I looked around for clues. Just then, the sound of a priest entering the other side startled me. My shoulder bag dropped off my lap and onto the floor with a thud. No sense in pretending I wasn't here. The priest said something in Spanish. I reached down to pick up my bag off the floor and noticed a bag filled with white powder was taped to the underside of the bench.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. There must be a kilo of cocaine there.

"Perhaps you prefer English," said the priest.

I closed my eyes. I was caught red-handed in a confessional booth swearing with a big bag of drugs. My Catholic upbringing kicked in.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned," I said.

"You have taken the Lord's name in vain," said the priest. "Please recite Hail Mary."

As I did my Hail Mary, I was prying the bag of cocaine off the bottom of the bench. I shoved it into my shoulder bag. I was thinking about leaving when the priest spoke again.

"What is your real problem, child?"

I almost snorted. I have so many problems I can't keep track of them. I'm in my thirties with a crap job and no sense of where my future will go. I live paycheck to paycheck. My cars blow themselves up, I'm an attractant for stalkers, I've been kidnapped more times that I can count, I chase after dangerous criminals, and I can't seem to pull off the wavy beach hair look.

"And I'm in love with two men," I accidently spoke aloud.

"Are you married?" said the priest.

"No," I said. At least, not yet. I shuddered.

"Are both men good?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted. Both Ranger and Morelli were good men.

"The bible does not give much direction in these matters," said the priest. "But conventional wisdom says to choose the one you cannot live without."

Technically I would be dead if it weren't for Ranger. He's saved my life more than I cared to admit. He jumped off a bridge into the Delaware River to rescue me. He says he doesn't do relationships, but thinks about marrying me. He's confusing.

And Morelli…I don't even know if I can co-exist in the same house as him. We fight, we make up, we eat the same greasy food. He's fun and I always know where I stand with him. I realized that I'm no further along in making up my mind.

"Please miss," said the priest, "could you leave so the others can confess."

I packed up my shoulder bag and cocaine and drove back to Trenton. My phone rang as I was just on the outskirts of the Burg. It was my mother.

"Hello Stephanie," she said. "Grandma said you were picking her up tonight. Come early and have some dinner. I made pot roast and pineapple upside-down cake."

I figured I needed some comfort food, so I arrived at my parents' house just before six. My grandma met me on the front porch.

"I have some juicy news," Grandma said. "Come on inside."

I entered the house and the warm aromas of a home-cooked meal flooded my nose.

"This is my boyfriend, William," said Grandma, introducing me to a tall and surprisingly normal-looking man in his 70s. "We met yesterday at the senior's centre. He caught me cheating at playing crib and we hit it off right away."

I shook his hand. "Hello," I said.

"Nice to meet you," William said, "I'm finally shaking the hand of the bounty hunter Edna keeps telling me about."

"It wasn't my fault," I automatically replied.

My mother came out of the kitchen, carrying the pot roast. "Everyone sit down, dinner is ready."

Dad was already sitting down at the dinner table salivating. The rest of us sat down.

"Before we start," Grandma said. "I have some news."

"Can't this wait?" said Dad while serving himself some meat.

"I'm getting married!" proclaimed Grandma. William took her hand and kissed her on the cheek.

There was silence for a beat.

"Could someone pass the mashed potatoes?" said Dad.

* * *

Once my mother realized there was not talking Grandma out of it, the rest of dinner was spent working out the details of the wedding. It helped that my dad wanted Grandma out of the house as soon as possible.

We drove to Sitva's funeral parlor. I dropped Grandma and William off near the front doors and found parking two blocks down. When I made it back the place was packed with people, mixed with the smell of carnations and body odor. I'm not a huge fan of funerals, but I know from experience that they're a good source of information when I'm tracking down skips. And the cookies are pretty good too.

Tonight, all three viewing rooms were occupied. Judging by the amount of people with designer outfits and plastic surgery, a wealthy resident was in slumber room 1. Someone from the Knights of Columbus was in room 2 and Ivy Swathmary was laid out in room 3.

Coming out of room 3, Grandma said to me, "Ivy really did have one blue eye and one brown eye. I managed to get her eyes open and poked around to make sure she wasn't wearing contacts." I choked on my cookie. I may do a lot of stupid things, but I draw the line at poking dead people's eyes.

I looked around for a glass of water to wash down my cookie and spotted Nicholas Jones animatedly talking to a particularly rich-looking couple. I tried making my way through the crowd.

"You should definitely switch your investments to equity funds," Nicholas' voice carried through the crowd, "Let me give you my card."

Nicholas was moving away from the couple. The crowd was too thick. I tried pushing but one of the Knights of Columbus elbowed me back.

"Watch it girly," he warned.

I was too late. Nicholas had disappeared into the crowd. I approached the elderly couple he was talking to.

"Excuse me," I said, "I think I know that man you were just talking to. What was his name?"

"Joshua Cole," the man said, "He's a financial planner. He had a lot of good advice for our retirement funds. I have his card here."

"Can I see it?" I asked. I took a picture with my iPhone and thanked them.

Grandma caught up to me as I was sighing. "I just saw one of my skips. I think he was trying to con an elderly couple."

"That's just wrong," Grandma said, "Old people have enough problems without good-looking con men trying to get their money."

* * *

I dropped off Grandma and William and headed home. Mrs. Bestler was in the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor when I got in.

"Second floor," she said, "Ladies accessories and handbags."

I entered my apartment and said hi to Rex, my hamster. I opened up my laptop and plugged Nicholas Jones and Joshua Cole into a search program. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat back down to look at the results. The basic information came up. Nicholas Jones was a 37-year old investment banker. Joshua Cole was a 37-year old financial planner. Nothing out of the ordinary. However, the address on the business card was an office building that was undergoing construction after one of the floors blew out. I personally knew that since Ranger and I barely made it out before the bomb went off.

I decided to dig a little deeper and entered the names into a search engine that Rangeman uses. It was so invasive that it could tell you the results of your last pap smear. I drank another beer and turned on the food channel while the program did its thing. It came up with 5 more aliases for Nicholas. Each name was linked to multiple addresses and even more bank accounts. He was a first rate con man and on the run from the FBI. Finding him was going to be nearly impossible.

Sounds like a challenge.

* * *

Monday morning I walked into the bonds office. There was a blender on Connie's desk. Lula was drinking a smoothie. It was the color of pond scum. Like, New Jersey pond scum.

"Want a breakfast drink," Lula asked.

"Don't do it," Connie said, "It tastes awful."

"This drink is supposed to make you smarter," Lula continued, "It's got omega 3s and iron and shit. My book says if you drink one of these every day you improve brain function." Lula took a big gulp. She gagged before swallowing.

"Not bad," she said. "Not good either."

"I'll pass," I said.

"What's new?" Connie asked.

"I have a body receipt for the gingerbread man," I said, "My grandma is getting married. Oh, and this." I took the big bag of cocaine out of my shoulder bag and dropped it on Connie's desk.

Lula and Connie's eyes bugged out.

Connie was the first to recover. "Vinnie!" She yelled.

Vinnie came out of his office behind Connie's desk.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, "There must be a kilo of cocaine there!"

"Where did you get it?" Connie asked.

"You aren't going to believe this," I said, "I found it in the confessional booth at a Catholic church in Newark."

"You're shitting me," Lula said.

"Do you know how much that's worth?" asked Vinnie.

"I don't want to know," I said. "I need to get rid of it."

"Dougie and Mooner will take care of it," Connie said. "They live out of a motor home which broke down beside an empty lot." She wrote down the address for me.

Dougie "The Dealer" Kruper and Walter "Mooner" Dunphy were in my grade in high school. They were the class stoners back then and haven't grown up much since. I pulled up to the empty lot and found the motor home sitting at the curb. Dougie and Mooner were sitting in lawn chairs with their feet in a kiddie pool watching a TV that had been set up on a foldable table.

"Yo dudette," called Mooner. "Did I forget my court date again?" Mooner was a frequent flier in failing to appear for his court dates. Mostly because he was high as a kite.

"No," I said as I walked over to them. "I was wondering if you can take this off my hands. No questions asked." I pulled out the cocaine.

"Sure," said Dougie.

* * *

I cashed in my cheque at the bank and went to the grocery store. I bought all of my staples. Milk, bread, olives, mini carrots for Rex, beer, Fruit Loops, ice cream and Tastycakes. I ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich for lunch and ate a butterscotch crimpet for dessert.

I was debating between burning gas checking out the aliases for Nicholas Cole or burning gas driving to Newark to look for Cruise Mendez when my phone rang. It was the convenience store clerk in Newark.

"Cruise Mendez just came in," he said. "He bought six big bags of potato chips."

Probably Cruise was at home, getting high, and getting the munchies. I thanked the clerk and got in the car. I drove over to Newark, parked by the church again, and waited.

In the late afternoon, Cruise exited his apartment building and walked into the church. He was probably making another drug drop in the confessional booth. I rummaged in my shoulder bag and got my cuffs and pepper spray. I checked my stun gun. Dead. Stupid Stephanie forgot to charge it. My gun was at home tucked safely into my cookie jar.

I got out of the car when I saw Cruise emerge from the church.

"Cruise Mendez?" I asked him.

"What's it to you?" He replied.

"You have violated your bond agreement and I need you to come with me to reschedule your court date." I wrapped my fingers around my pepper spray in my pocket.

He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Let's go," he said.

I turned him around and put cuffs on him. I noticed that he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

"Why are you wearing a Kevlar vest?" I asked.

"There's a hit out on me," he said. "I lost some merchandise and the boss ain't happy about it. I figure I'll be safer back in jail."

Just then, a gunshot tore through the air. I hit the ground. Cruise wasn't so lucky and fell to the ground beside me. The bullet was a direct shot to his chest.

Cruise was wheezing and blood was quickly seeping out through his clothes.

"Shit man," he gasped.

I tore off my jacket and put pressure on the wound. A bystander called 911. I could tell they wouldn't be able to get here soon enough.

The paramedics declared him dead on arrival and the police took my statement. I headed home, took a shower, ate the entire tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and crashed into bed.

It's true that I've seen a lot of dead people before. I think the scariest thing about it is that I'm getting used to it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning I drove to my parents' house to do laundry and found the aroma of bacon wafting through the air. As I entered, I heard arguing.

"Helen," Grandma yelled, "Don't rain on my parade! I can have nine bridesmaids if I want!"

"Mother," my Mother replied, "It's a bit excessive."

"No it's not," said Grandma.

"Besides," my Mother said, "Who gets married again in their seventies? Betty Markovich is old and she isn't looking to get hitched again."

"Getting married again is on my bucket list," said Grandma. "It was my top-secret thing I have to do before I die."

My Mother rolled her eyes. I was trying to sneak downstairs to the laundry room when Grandma spotted me.

"Stephanie," Grandma said, "Do you think nine bridesmaids is too much for an old lady's dying wish?"

"Mother," my Mother said, "You're not dying."

"Am I going to be one of them?" I asked. I hated being in the wedding party. The last time I wore a bridesmaid dress it was a theme wedding and the dress was accidently altered to become Little Whorehouse on the Prairie.

"No," Grandma said, "I'm going to ask my friends at the Clip 'N Curl to be bridesmaids."

"No problems here," I said.

"You can leave your laundry here," my Mother said to me. "I'll wash it and you can pick it up later."

My Mother drinks scotch and irons when she's stressed out. When I come back to pick up my laundry, my socks will probably be ironed.

I ate pancakes and bacon and quickly got out of there before I got involved in the wedding preparations. I drove to Tasty Pastry and picked up a dozen doughnuts before continuing on to the bonds office.

When I got out of my car my spidey sense was tingling. I had a feeling I was being watched. I looked around. There was a couple entering the bakery. A few people going to the laundromat. A lady waiting for the bus. No one looked overly suspicious.

Inside the bonds office, Lula was reading the newspaper with her glasses perched on top of her yellow hair.

"I can't read shit with the glasses on," Lula explained.

"I have doughnuts," I said, placing them on Connie's desk.

"Thank God," Connie said, "I don't know if I could drink another one of those breakfast smoothies."

I took a Boston Crème doughnut out of the box and took a big bite.

"You should be getting a fax from the Newark Police Department sometime today," I told Connie. "It's a death certificate for Cruise Mendez."

"I saw the story in the paper," Lula said, "They say he was gunned down right in front of you using armor-piercing bullets. See here, I'm keeping current 'cause it's the smart thing to do."

"The worst thing was that he was still wearing my handcuffs when they took him away," I said.

"No problem, I got an extra pair." Lula said as she pulled a pair of cuffs out of her purse and handed them to me. "They were real cheap so I stocked up."

"I've got three more skips for you," said Connie. "Another drug dealer, an arsonist, and a wife-beater."

I took the files and read through them. The arsonist was 24-year old Liam Flint who lived in the Burg. The 31-year old drug dealer was Antonio Torres who lived on Stark Street. The 43-year old wife-beater was also a Stark Street resident called Isiah Malone.

Vinnie emerged from his office, "You need to find some of these losers," he said, "I'm not running a charity here!"

Lula, the doughnuts, and I got into my Ford Escape and set off for Stark Street. When we pulled up to Antonio Torres's apartment building, there were police cars parked outside and a cop was wrapping crime scene tape around the sidewalk.

"I'll go investigate," I said to Lula.

"No problem," said Lula. "I'll stay here and make sure the car doesn't get stolen."

"Smart thinking," I said. Stark Street was the run-down section of Trenton with low-income housing. The residents were a mix of gang members, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes, and people down on their luck. For the most part, it was a lawless place. The police usually avoided it if they could, so the fact they were here spoke volumes.

I walked up to one of the cops I recognized, Carl Constanza. He and I made communion together and we frequently ran into each other due to my work.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"A drug dealer got gunned down," Carl said.

"Let me guess," I said, "His name was Antonio Torres."

"How did you know?" He asked.

"He was one of my skips," I explained.

"Two shots to the chest," Carl said. "Torres was wearing Kevlar too. The bullets pierced right through."

When I got back to the car, all of the doughnuts were gone. I looked incredulously at Lula.

"What?" Lula said. "I'm an emotional eater. All those cops swarming around makes me so nervous that I gotta eat."

I sighed. "Torres is dead." I told Lula.

"Wanna get some lunch?" She asked. "I'm thinking Chinese food. We're in need of some ancient Chinese wisdom that they put on those fortune cookies."

* * *

We got take out chow mein, kung pao chicken and egg rolls and parked back on Stark Street outside of the wife-beater Isiah Malone's apartment building. After eating, we took the stairs up to Isiah's apartment on the fourth floor.

"Why don't your skips ever live on the first floor?" Lula asked, wheezing from exertion.

I knocked on Isiah's door and a petite woman answered. She had lots of bruises on her face and her arm was in a cast. This must be Isiah's girlfriend.

"We're looking for Isiah Malone," I said.

"He's not here," she said.

"He missed his court date and I need to take him back to the station to get him rescheduled," I explained.

"Did he do this to you?" Lula said, pointing to her cast.

"Yeah," she said, "The lousy motherfucker. He comes home after being out with his homies, thinking he's all man and starts beating on me. I pressed charges after I ended up in the hospital. A girl can only take so much, you know?"

I left my card with the woman.

"Call me if you see him," I said.

Lula and I got back into the car and we pulled away from Stark Street. We wound our way through the streets of Trenton back to the bonds office.

"We forgot to open our fortune cookies," Lula said, handing me a cookie.

"What does yours say?" Lula asked.

"Make preparations now for your future," I read off the paper strip. "What about yours?"

"Your future lies in your past," Lula read. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

My past consisted of poor life choices, my cars blowing up, and people firebombing my apartment. I made a mental note to buy a fire extinguisher.

"We could always play the lottery with the numbers on the back," I said.

"Damn skippy," said Lula.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Grandma.

"He's here," Grandma whispered into the phone, "That good looking guy from the funeral parlor is at the Senior's Centre. He's trying to talk William into some sort of Ponzi scheme."

"I'll be right there," I told her.

"I'll stall as long as I can," said Grandma.

We made it to the Senior's Centre in under 15 minutes. Sure enough, Nicholas Jones was talking to William and handing him a business card.

Lula and I walked up just as William was moving away.

"Nicholas Jones?" I asked.

"Sorry you must be mistaken," said Nicholas.

"Joshua Cole?" I tried. "Or how about Matthew Smith? Or Mark White? Or one of your other aliases?"

Realization dawned on Nicholas' face and he was getting a look that I've learned to associate with a skip who is just about to run. I pulled out my stun gun and zapped him in the neck. No messing around.

I put Lula's cuffs on him and together we managed to drag him out to the street and into the backseat of my car. About halfway to the police station, Nicholas started to regain consciousness.

"Look ladies," he said, "You look like smart women. Let's make a deal. You let me go and I'll give you $10,000 each."

"Cash?" asked Lula.

"Savings bonds," said Nicholas, "It's better than cash. Safer too."

"Does it look like we were born yesterday?" said Lula. "We don't want none of your fake money."

I stopped at a red light at a busy intersection and Nicholas jumped out of the car and ran for it. I opened my door and got out. He had already disappeared into the crowd.

"Dammit," I said. I looked at the backseat. The handcuffs were lying on the ground, broken into pieces.

"How did he get out of the cuffs?" I said. I looked at Lula.

"Uh," she said, "I thought I would save me some money so I might have gotten those at the dollar store."

Mental head slap.

* * *

We were already in the Burg so I decided to check out the listed address for Liam Flint, the arsonist. According to his file, he lived in the basement suite of his aunt and uncle's house. Lula and I went around back and knocked on the door. Nobody answered.

We came back around and knocked on the front door. A middle-aged man with red hair and freckles answered.

"We're looking for Liam Flint," I explained, "Have you seen him?"

"You mean that freak nephew of mine?" He asked. "I've been trying to evict him but my wife lets him stay as a favor to her sister."

I gave him my card. "We need to reschedule his court date, please call me if you see him," I said.

"There he is!" the man said, pointing behind me.

Lula and I turned around and sure enough, Liam was crouched down by my Ford Escape wearing a bright red onesie pajamas with a flame embroidered on the back.

"Hey you," Lula yelled, "Stop right there!"

Liam backed away and I noticed that he had lit something on fire and put it under my car. I dashed to my car, slid along the pavement and kicked the flaming bag out from under my car.

"I am the Firestarter!" yelled Liam as he ran away.

"That was close," I said.

"First the Gingerbread Man and now this?" Lula asked, "This must be pretend-to-be-a-freak week."

After dropping Lula off at the bonds office, I stopped at the hardware store and bought a fire extinguisher. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have one under the kitchen sink, just in case.

* * *

After eating dinner at my parent's house and picking up my laundry, I hauled everything into my apartment.

There was a knock on my front door. I looked through the peep hole and saw a big chest wearing black clothing.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Tank," he said. Tank is 6' 8", African-American, and built like, well, a tank. He is also Ranger's right-hand man. He protects Ranger's back and occasionally is assigned to be my babysitter when I have a stalker or get tossed off bridges.

I opened the door and let him in.

"Stephanie," he started. A sense of dread filled me. He used my full name.

"Ranger was working undercover and there was an explosion," he said. "I'm sorry. Ranger's dead."

* * *

In a way I knew this was coming. Ranger didn't lead a safe life. He's killed people in the past and lived the life of a mercenary. In recent years he had become a businessman and had been working on fixing his karma. He kept people close to him at arm's length in order to protect them. But that didn't explain why it hurt so much now.

A week had passed. I finally left my apartment when Grandma showed up at my door.

"Time to get up and take a shower," she said. "The funeral is today."

I let her get me cleaned up and accompanied me to the funeral. I went through the motions and came home.

"There's only one thing you can do when the one you love dies," Grandma said. "Carry on."

* * *

The next morning I found myself staring at the bonds office glass front door. I was resilient. I was going to carry on. I walked in and found Lula and Connie staring at me.

"Steph, I'm so—" Lula started.

"Are there any new files for me?" I asked Connie, cutting off Lula.

"No," Connie said.

Vinnie emerged from his office with a smile on his face. "No one's been jumping bail. The word on the street is that being on the run from you is like getting a bull's eye painted on your chest. Everyone's scared of getting shot down." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not shooting your FTAs are you?"

"No!" I said.

Vinnie thought about it for a moment. "You're right. I shouldn't know. Plausible deniability." And he walked back into his office and closed the door.

"In the last week there's been two more drug dealers that have jumped bail and gotten shot," Connie explained. "The only open files are the ones you have for Nicholas Jones, Isiah Malone and Liam Flint."

I turned and walked towards the door.

"Steph," Connie said. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Ranger."

I got into my Ford Escape before the tears came and set off for the Burg to look for Liam Flint. I pulled up to his address and knocked on his basement suite door. No answer. I went around front and knocked. His uncle answered again.

"Have you seen Liam recently?" I asked.

"No," the uncle answered. "He's being really sneaky and I don't hear him leave or come home."

"You're powerless to catch me!" Liam yelled from behind me.

I turned and saw him start running down the street. I took off after him. He was wearing his red onesie pajamas with the flame on the back again. After a half dozen houses, I was gaining on him. All of a sudden there was a loud BOOM behind me.

I turned and saw my car engulfed in flames. Liam must have put a bomb under my car when I wasn't looking.

"I am the firestarter!" Liam yelled. "You'll regret the day you chose me for an enemy!"

As Liam took off, I sighed. In the distance, fire truck sirens were wailing. I stayed and gave my report to the police and watched the fire trucks hose down the burnt out wreckage.

I still had my shoulder bag but I needed some wheels. In the past when I've been in between cars, I've always been able to borrow Uncle Sandor's old Buick that lives in my parent's garage. I walked the 10 blocks over to my parent's house. I was tired and dejected by the time I got there. My grandma and mother were standing on the porch.

"We heard sirens and had a suspicion you might be dropping by for dinner," Grandma said.

"I know Joseph is out of town so I invited someone over I think you might like," my Mother said.

I groaned. "I hate fix-ups."

"He's a little bit older than you," my Mother said. "But he's financially stable. I met him outside the bank today and invited him over."

Reluctantly, I walked into my parent's house. Sometimes the need for food overcomes pride and I hadn't gone grocery shopping in a long time.

"Come sit down at the dinner table," my Mother said to me.

I entered the dining room and couldn't believe my luck. Nicholas Jones, the bond forger, was sitting there having a conversation with my Father.

"Stephanie," my Mother said, "Meet—"

"Nicholas Jones," I narrowed my eyes.

"Oh crap," Nicholas said as he bolted it from the table.

As he tried to run past my Grandma, she held out an umbrella and stuck it between his legs. He tripped and toppled over. I jumped over the dining room table, scattering dishes and cutlery everywhere and threw myself down on top of him. I managed to get out my stun gun and zapped him.

As I was pulling out my cuffs, Grandma was laughing.

"I've been holding in that laugh ever since he got here," Grandma said. "He had no idea he was having dinner with a bounty hunter."

My Mother looked shocked. "I've never seen you do a takedown before."

"Sorry about the table," I said, hauling Nicholas up by his armpits. "Can I borrow the Buick?"

* * *

It was dark by the time I dropped Nicholas off at the police station and got my body receipt. As I was getting back into the Buick, my phone rang. It was the girlfriend of Isiah Malone.

"He's here," she whispered into the phone. I heard banging in the background. "He's at the door. Please help. Come quickly."

I motored it over to Stark Street as fast as I could. I parked on the street and saw Isiah Malone duck into an alley. I got out of the car and followed.

Unfortunately, he was hiding in the shadows and lunged at me. He caught me off guard and punched me in the face. I fought back but he was too big and too strong. He pushed me up against a dumpster with his hands around my neck.

"Who's going to protect you now that Ranger's dead?" He sneered. He turned me around and put his weight on top of me. "I'm gonna take great pleasure in fucking Manoso's bitch." He reached around and tried to undo the top button of my jeans.

Fear and terror ran through my veins. Two shots rang out and Isiah stumbled back holding his shoulder. I looked over at the shooter and saw Tank standing in the alleyway entrance holding a gun. I ran toward him. He put his hand around my upper arm and led me to a black Rangeman SUV.

"Hal will take care of the Buick," Tank said. Hal was a Rangeman employee.

I got into the passenger seat and Tank sped away. After a few blocks, I had stopped shaking from the adrenaline burn off.

"I figured you needed some backup when I saw your tracker on Stark Street after dark," Tank said.

"You're tracking me?" I asked.

"Ranger and I had a deal," Tank explained, "If anything happened to either of us, we would take care of each other's…things. I got Rangeman and you."

"What would have happened if you died first?" I asked.

"He would have gotten my cats," Tank said. Tank has three cute fluffy cats and the thought of Ranger turning into a cat lady made me half smile.

"How did Isiah know who I was?" I asked no one in particular.

"You're unforgettable," said Tank, "And with the right training, you could be unstoppable."

"I think I need self-defense lessons." It was the understatement of the decade.

"Meet me at Rangeman tomorrow," Tank said. "Six am."

* * *

A/N: Before you write any "hate reviews", refer to author's note at the beginning of chapter 2: Babe fans, hang in there.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A shout out to those living in the UK: Liam Flint is named after members in the band Prodigy who sang the song, "Firestarter".

Chapter 4

Rangeman was housed in a non-descript seven story brick building on a quiet side street in downtown Trenton. I entered the front door at six am and found Tank waiting in the lobby for me. We took the elevator to the gym.

"You were on Stark Street after dark with no backup," Tank said.

"What's your point?" I asked, feeling a little cranky from being awake so early and having nightmares the night before.

"It was careless," Tank sighed. He turned and looked me straight in the eyes. "When someone close to you dies, you can either go on a self-destructive rampage or you can choose to live an honorable life."

We entered the gym. "Let's get to work," Tank said.

After two hours, Tank had shown me some basic self-defense moves, including how to flip someone who grabs you from behind. He also showed me how to pick open a pair of handcuffs.

As I was leaving, he handed me a panic button.

"This is a tracker and a panic button," he said. "We'll respond to it as soon as we can. I expect you to carry it at all times along with your gun."

"I will," I promised. I didn't want to think what would've happened with Isiah Malone if Tank hadn't been there. I was used to jumping into dangerous situations without thinking, and that was going to change.

We got into the elevator.

"There's something else," Tank said. "Ranger left you something in his will."

My breath caught and I swallowed down something tasting like sorrow. Tank reached into his pocket and pulled out three sets of keys. "He left you the Mercedes, the Porsche Cayenne, and the 911 Turbo." In other words, about a quarter million dollars in cars.

"Did he leave any notes? Letters?" I asked.

"No," Tank said. "He wasn't really planning on dying. This was a big shock to all of us."

We rode the elevator down to the garage. I needed a car. The Buick was okay but wasn't a good car for surveillance since it was the size of a medium sized boat. I looked at the keys in my hand. In the past I had borrowed Ranger's vehicles and most of them I subsequently destroyed in one way or another. I looked at the three vehicles parked along the wall by the elevator. If these were the only things I had left of Ranger I couldn't risk them.

After a few minutes, Tank spoke. "You can borrow a fleet car if you want."

"Thanks Tank," I said.

* * *

I went home and took a shower. I took my gun out of my bear cookie jar and checked it for bullets. Ranger tried for years to get me to carry it. It was tragic that his death was the turning point for me to get smart and protect myself. I tucked it into the back of my jeans and headed downstairs. I got into the black Rangeman SUV and drove to the bonds office.

When I got out, I had that feeling again that I was being watched. There was a guy across the street walking his dog and picking up poo in a doggie bag. Another man was washing windows a few buildings down. And there was a lady waiting for a bus that had come five minutes ago. Bingo.

I walked past the bonds office and ducked into the alley that ran alongside it. I backed up against the wall and waited a few minutes. Sure enough, the bus lady walked past and entered the alley. I grabbed her, turned her around, shoved her against the wall and put a gun to her head.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I said.

"Karen O'Reilly. FBI." She said. "I want to offer you a job."

My eyes narrowed. I instantly didn't trust her.

"I'm serious," she said. "If you take your hands off me, I'll show you my badge."

I backed off but kept my gun trained on her. "No funny business."

She turned around, fixed her shirt, and showed me her badge.

"Why are you following me?" I asked, lowering my gun slightly.

"We've been chasing Nicholas Jones up and down the eastern seaboard for over three years," Karen said. "You caught him in under two weeks."

"I got lucky," I said.

"You've been on our radar ever since Ranger Manoso's daughter was kidnapped," Karen continued. "Over the years, we kept hearing the name Stephanie Plum pop up. You helped us take down a Bulgarian mobster, got caught up in a cyber crime murder mystery involving a photograph, and most recently, you stopped a Russian spy from poisoning hundreds of people in Atlantic City."

I guess when you look at it that way, I did do all that.

"We need your help," Karen continued. "We're investigating drug activity spanning Trenton, Newark, and Camden. We think the base of operations has moved to the Trenton area. You stumbled onto it when you witnessed Cruise Mendez get murdered and I've been following you ever since."

"I don't think the FBI is a good fit for me," I said. Plus, I don't want to wear pantyhose.

"Then come on as a contractor," Karen said. "The pay is good."

I considered this. With no one jumping bail with Vinnie, I don't make any money as a bounty hunter and my rent is due again.

"Fine," I said. "But if I don't like it, I'm out."

"Come meet our joint taskforce team," Karen said. "We have a meeting this morning at eleven at the FBI office."

* * *

I drove to the FBI building and parked on the street. I was once attacked in the underground parking lot and I didn't trust it. I walked into the lobby and took the elevator up to the sixth floor.

Karen met me once I got off the elevator. She had changed into a navy power suit that complemented her straight auburn hair with perfect highlights. I decided I didn't like her. She led me into a conference room with a large table filled with coffee cups, papers, and people I didn't know. That is, except for one.

"Steph? What the hell are you doing here?" It was Morelli.

The room fell silent. I narrowed my eyes at him and felt myself go into rhino mode. We could either do this in public or private.

"Why don't we take a break guys," Karen announced.

Morelli got up, took my arm, and dragged me into the hallway. I could tell he was sorting out his thoughts by the way he was looking at his shoes and how his face was going red. I decided to go first.

"Karen invited me on as a contractor," I said. "I didn't go looking for this."

"You never look for trouble," Morelli countered. "It finds you. This is the biggest case I've ever worked on and now you're dragged into the mix. Karen O'Reilly is legendary for assembling taskforces to take down massive crime rings leaving only craters behind. Look Steph, these guys are dangerous."

"I've been taking self-defense lessons," I argued.

"Hah," Morelli said. "Self-defense isn't going to help you. Neither will Kevlar vests. They take out anyone in their way with armor piercing bullets. And they don't ask questions first."

I stood there with my hands on my hips. I wasn't going to back down because Morelli told me so. Joe was in the same stance, probably thinking the same thing.

Karen came out of the conference room and interrupted our standoff.

"We're ready to start up again," she said.

Once we sat down at the conference table, Karen started talking.

"Let's review what we have," she said. "We have a drug ring characterized by large volumes of cocaine coming out of the Caribbean and a large number of murders. For the last year, it was centered out of Camden and has recently moved to Newark and now, Trenton. We've been unable to track the cocaine shipments before it's divided and shuttled down to mid-sized dealers."

"From there, the trail gets lost because we can't distinguish between the Caribbean cocaine and the other types out on the streets. These dealers are Hispanic and if they are suspected of redirecting the drugs or talking with the police, they get shot dead with armor-piercing bullets from a distance."

"Everyone, meet Stephanie Plum," Karen said, motioning at me. "I've brought her on as a contractor. She's linked to four of the murders through being a bounty hunter, and word on the street is that she's doing the shooting."

"I hardly ever shoot people," I said to everyone in the room.

Karen continued. "We need a sample of cocaine for chemical analysis in order to track the drugs and we need to find the person or people behind this. The only lead is that he is called the Boss. It's a tight operation and no one is talking."

"I can get you a sample," I volunteered. The room fell silent.

"How?" Karen asked.

"Um…" I thought about how to explain finding a kilo of it in a church and giving it to Mooner and Dougie.

"It's impossible," Morelli said. "Every time we get close to finding the cocaine, it disappears into thin air."

"Don't worry," I said. "I can get it."

After two hours in the FBI meeting, my leg was bouncing up and down and I was clicking my pen incessantly. Karen called a break.

"Maybe you should hit the streets and I'll organize the logistics," she said. "You can partner up with Morelli."

Joe smiled at me. "This will be fun. The last time we worked together, I got shot in the leg and shoved into a commercial freezer."

* * *

"Why doesn't Karen have a guy working undercover?" I asked Morelli as we waited for the elevator.

"She did, but he died in a warehouse explosion," Morelli explained. "No one knew who he was."

"I thought you were out of town," I said to Morelli as we rode the elevator down to the ground floor of the FBI building.

"We were working out of Camden for a while," he explained, "so I was technically out of town until today." He glanced at my left hand.

"I see you're not wearing my ring," Morelli said. "Have you made a decision?"

No, and I've been avoiding thinking about it at all costs. "I thought I had more time to think about it."

He put a hand on the back of my head and gave me a kiss that made me want to say yes.

"I missed you," he said. "I can give you more time."

We got off on the ground floor and he walked me over to my black SUV.

"Why are you driving a Rangeman vehicle?" He asked.

"It's a loaner," I said.

"But Ranger's dead," he said.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"The whole town knows."

"Tank lent it to me," I said. "I have some things to take care of before we hit the streets." Like grocery shopping and visiting Mooner and Dougie.

"No problem," said Morelli. "Let's meet up for dinner."

* * *

I drove to the bonds office. Connie, Lula and Vinnie were there.

"I saw you walk past a few hours ago, where did you go?" Connie asked.

"I'm now working for the FBI," I said.

Vinnie started laughing. "Yeah right. That's the funniest thing I've heard all day."

"I'm serious."

"Whatever," Vinnie said, "Just don't let your moonlighting interfere with getting Liam Flint and Isiah Malone."

I gave Connie my body receipt for Nicholas Jones and she wrote me out a cheque. There were no new skips.

I went grocery shopping and decided to go past Liam Flint's house since I was in the neighborhood. Sometimes, persistence paid off. I knocked on his door and unsurprisingly, no one answered.

I drove home. It took two trips out to the SUV to get the groceries inside. After the second trip, I entered my apartment and found Liam Flint was standing in my living room wearing his red onesie pajamas holding a zippo lighter.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I followed you home," Liam said. "Your door was unlocked. What idiot leaves their door unlocked?"

I dropped my groceries and reached into my handbag for my handcuffs.

"Don't move," Liam said. He was holding his zippo over my couch and I smelled gasoline. "Don't move or I'll burn your place down!"

I had just gotten my apartment repainted and recarpeted from the last firebomb and I was getting really tired of it.

"Liam," I said calmly. "You missed your court date and I need to take you in to get rescheduled."

"You're lying," he said nervously. "You're the evil bounty hunter that wants to take away my super powers."

"You're an arsonist," I said as I took a slow step towards him.

"And I always will be!" Liam said. And he dropped his lighter onto the couch, igniting the cushions instantly.

My couch was on fire and was spreading to the coffee table. Liam was making his way to the door, yelling, "I am the Firestarter!"

I remembered my fire extinguisher under the sink. I grabbed it with both hands and hit Liam across the side of his head with it. Liam went down and I dragged him out of the apartment. I got my handbag and put Rex inside of it. I pulled the fire alarm on the wall in the hallway and dragged Liam into the elevator. I put cuffs on him and got him outside.

By the time the firetrucks and police arrived, I had Liam in the backseat of the Rangeman SUV and secured to the leg shackles bolted to the floor. I gave my report to Carl Constanza, the cop on duty.

After a while, the fire was extinguished and Carl and the fire chief were done with their walk-through of my apartment.

"The damage was limited to your living room," said the fire chief. "But there's smoke damage to the rest of the apartment. But when the restoration company is done, you just need a fresh coat of paint and you can move back in."

"We searched for valuables left out in the open and found this." Carl said. It was Morelli's engagement ring. "Is it from Joe?"

"Yes," I said.

"Woo-hoo!" Carl exclaimed and punched the air. "I won! This is great. There's been a betting pool on you two getting married for like, ever. I chose this month for the engagement. It's up to $6000. Just wait 'til I tell the guys."

As Carl called police dispatch on his cellphone, I sighed. Word was going to travel quickly. I needed a place to stay and I couldn't stay with my parents once they found out from the neighbor's niece that I was engaged. I hadn't even decided to say yes. Just then, Morelli pulled up in his Jeep Cherokee.

"Congratulations on your engagement man," Carl said to Morelli, slapping him on the back. "Stephanie just told me."

Morelli walked over and put his arm around my shoulders. He looked up at my apartment windows which were black with smoke. "Cupcake, I hate to say this, but you've done worse."

A tear rolled down my cheek. Things were getting out of control.

"Oh crap," Morelli said. "It's just an apartment. And you're in luck. Because we're engaged you can stay with me."

I looked at him suspiciously. "I thought I had more time to think about it."

"Let's make a deal," he said. "Move in for a week and see what happens. If we don't drive each other crazy, think about saying yes."

* * *

A/N: Reviews?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: When I started this story, I chose to write it in J. Evanovich's annoyingly addictive style of action and dialogue (with snippets of self-reflection), where things happen to Stephanie in a hit-and-run fashion. In doing so, her relationship with Morelli needs to be played out before she truly realizes her happily ever after.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a review. I've gotten some good ideas for future chapters. Stay tuned to see your idea get incorporated.

Chapter 5

I woke up in Morelli's bed at 5:30 am and started putting on my workout clothes.

"Where are you going?" Morelli asked groggily. "You're never awake this early."

"Rangeman," I answered. "Self-defense lessons with Tank."

"Oh, boy," Morelli said. "I don't even know what to say to that." And he rolled over and fell back asleep.

Two and a half hours later, I was back at Morelli's house and was finished with my shower and getting dressed. I walked into the kitchen and found Morelli at the stove making an omelette just as the toast popped up in the toaster.

I sat down at the table and Morelli gave me a cup of coffee and a stack of files.

"This is what we know about the murdered cocaine dealers so far," he said.

I read through the files over breakfast. There were over two dozen drug dealers that were murdered. They were all Hispanic, originating from a variety of countries in the Caribbean, including Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. They were all males in their twenties or thirties, living in Trenton, Newark, or Camden. In other words, there was no connection at all between them other than the fact they were known cocaine dealers and were shot dead with armor-piercing bullets.

I looked up and found Morelli smiling at me.

"This is nice," he said. "I've never had a partner with benefits before."

I rolled my eyes. "Where do you want to start?" I asked, motioning to the files.

"I'm at a dead end," he said. "I've contacted everyone who knew the murder victims. No one knew who the drug dealers were working for, and everyone is scared that if they talk to the cops, they'll be the next chalk-line on the pavement."

"We can check out the apartments of Chase Mendez and Antonio Torres for clues," I said. "But first I have to go get that cocaine sample."

"Who has it?" Morelli asked.

"I can't tell you," I said. "It's my fault they have it in the first place."

"See you at the FBI building," Morelli said. "We have another meeting this morning."

* * *

I pulled up to Mooner and Dougie's empty lot and found the motor home parked at the curb. They were sitting on lawnchairs eating a bag of cheesies and watching a Gilligan's Island episode on TV.

"Yo dudette," Mooner called to me, "Did I miss my court date?"

"No," I said. "I was wondering if I could get back that cocaine I gave you."

"Whoa," Dougie said, "That white stuff was _cocaine_?"

Mooner started laughing, "That would explain a lot."

"Do you still have it?" I asked.

"Kinda," said Mooner. "Come with me into our abode."

I followed him into the motor home and found cupcakes everywhere. Dozens and dozens of pink- and blue-frosted vanilla and chocolate cupcakes were on every surface.

"We thought you had given us a bag of icing sugar and we had a birthday party coming up," explained Mooner. "So we thought, dude, we're in luck. So we made cupcakes and icing with the stuff you gave us. Except, the icing tasted gross, so we had to cut in a bunch of Duncan Hines frosting. And then we had too much icing, so we had to make more cupcakes."

"You turned the whole bag of cocaine into icing?" I asked.

"Affirmative," said Mooner.

"Can I have a cupcake?" I asked.

"Sure," said Mooner, "as you can see, we have lots."

I chose out a pink-frosted chocolate cupcake and drove to the FBI building.

I sat down next to Morelli in the conference room on the sixth floor and placed my cupcake on the table.

"Cupcake?" he asked.

"The icing is made of cocaine," I explained.

"You do realize the irony in this, right?" he said.

* * *

After the meeting, I drove to my parent's house. I had my cellphone turned off ever since last night when Carl Constanza started the rumor that Morelli and I were engaged. Family ties were strong in the Burg, and a daughter only had three major obligations: Arrive for dinner before six pm; be the first person to tell your parents you're engaged; and have children that the grandparents can dote on.

I'm no slouch when it comes to dinner, but I've failed miserably in the last two. I parked my black SUV at the curb and steeled myself to face my mother's wrath. My Grandma and Mother were waiting for me on the front porch.

"Is it true?" asked Grandma.

"Joe and I aren't engaged," I said.

"That's a relief," said my Mother. "I can only deal with one wedding at a time and your grandmother is being a bridezilla."

"Hey!" said Grandma.

"Well you are," said my Mother. She turned to me. "Did you want to come in for a sandwich?"

* * *

I left my parent's house after lunch feeling slightly let down from my Mother's reaction. I was expecting a lot more yelling. Grandma must be keeping her busy. I drove to the bonds office to see if there were any new skips. The second I walked in, Lula started yelling.

"What the hell?!" Lula exclaimed. She sauntered over to me and poked me hard in the chest. "I thought you and I were tight. I had to hear about you getting all engaged to the cop from Connie here."

Connie was standing with her hands on her hips. "And I only heard it from my cousin, who heard it from her brother-in-law, who heard it from his step-mother's niece."

"Morelli and I aren't engaged," I said.

"But I heard he bought you a ring," Connie continued, "And you're living with him."

"That's true, but we're not engaged," I explained. "I'm still thinking about it."

"That's smart," said Lula. "You shouldn't make a decision like that until you're done grieving over Ranger's death."

Was I still grieving? Would I ever not miss him? Would I have done things differently? Falling in love with Ranger was a long, slow burn. If I could do it again, I think I wouldn't hold back my feelings for him. His life was dangerous, but hell, so was mine. It was a crap excuse for two people scared of commitment. Two people who were previously married, but got burned. Two people who loved each other but didn't want to admit it. I guess I was still grieving, but carrying on.

"Earth to Steph," said Connie, waving her hand in front of my face.

"Any new skips?" I asked.

"Negative," said Connie. "Everyone is still scared of you. I'll call you if we get anything in."

I left the bonds office and got a hinky feeling that someone was following me again. I pulled my handgun out of my handbag and turned around quickly, pointing it at a short lady dressed in a black dress and scarf.

"Eeek!" It was Morelli's Grandma Bella. She was old-world Sicilian and hated me. She was rumored to have voodoo powers and had put "the eye" on me a few times over the years.

"Why are you following me?" I asked, putting away my gun.

"You bad girl!" She yelled at me. "How dare you point a gun at me!"

"You've shot at me before!" I yelled back.

"You deserved it!" She replied. "And now you're engaged and living with my favorite grandson Joey. I'll put the eye on you!"

I was getting really tired of this. "We're not engaged and you've already damned me to hell," I said. "There's nothing left!"

Grandma Bella thought about it a while. Then she squinted her eyes at me and spat at my feet. "Stay away from my Joey."

* * *

It was late afternoon when I met up with Morelli to look through Antonio Torres' apartment on Stark Street.

"I saw your Grandma Bella today," I told him.

"She didn't try to shoot you again, did she?" He winced.

"No, but I pulled a gun on her by accident," I confessed.

"Geez," Morelli said. He pulled out a pack of Rolaids and popped two into his mouth. "You give me acid reflux. When did you start carrying your gun?"

I shrugged.

We entered Torres' apartment. It was a bachelor pad consisting of a small kitchenette and one room containing a ratty bed, a couch, and a big screen LED TV. I looked around.

"The FBI have already been through here," said Morelli. "Most of Torres' personal effects have been taken and cataloged."

I finished my search and didn't find anything.

"Tomorrow we can drive to Newark to look at Cruise Mendez's place," said Morelli.

* * *

The next day, after my self-defense lessons with Tank, Morelli and I drove into Newark. We parked at the curb next to Mendez's apartment and took the stairs to the third floor. We entered apartment 320 and found a basic one bedroom unit.

"Karen and her team have already stripped the place," Morelli said. "Later today, the landlord is going to take all the furniture to the dump so he can rent it out again."

I looked around for clues. The kitchen cupboards were bare, and so was the fridge. The bed in the bedroom was missing the sheets, and the bedside tables and dressers were empty.

"Karen sure is thorough," I stated. "Her team took everything."

"I don't know what you expect to find," Morelli said, watching me.

I stood in the living room. Cruise knew he had a hit out on him for losing the bag of cocaine. He must have had a way of contacting the boss to explain it wasn't his fault. I thought about how he liked hiding things underneath benches.

"Help me flip this couch," I said to Morelli.

We heaved the brown sofa onto its back and bent down to look underneath it. I reached into a tear in the fabric and wrapped my hand around a small cellphone taped to the wood frame.

"Bingo," I said as I pulled it out.

The battery was still charged, so I flipped it open to look at the call log. The last call was on Sunday night, the day before he was gunned down.

"We should get this to Karen," said Morelli as he started walking towards the front door.

I pushed redial and put the phone up to my ear.

"What are you doing?" Morelli said. "That's evidence."

"Shh," I said. "I'm making a phone call."

After a few rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?" an encrypted voice said.

"Hi," I said, "I think I have the wrong number, who is this?"

"Who are you?" said the robotic voice.

"Stephanie," I said, hoping to get more information.

There was a pause and the line went dead. Damn.

I looked at Morelli who was speechless and going red in the face.

"The cocaine boss is using voice encryption," I said. "But I think it's a female."

* * *

We drove back to Trenton and dropped the phone off at the FBI building with the tech guys.

The next morning, we were sitting at the conference table on the 6th floor of the FBI building.

"I'm getting really tired of all these meetings," I said under my breath.

"At least they have good doughnuts," replied Morelli.

Karen walked in. She had her hair in a French braid and was wearing a red designer suit with pumps.

"Thanks to Stephanie, we have our first lead in months," Karen addressed the group. "The icing on the cupcake came back with the chemical signature for the Caribbean cocaine so now we can track what's on the street. The lab also found cannabis in the cake, but I'm assuming that's unlinked to this case." Karen looked at me.

"That's probably a good assumption," I said.

"And Morelli and Plum found a burner phone inside Cruise Mendez's apartment containing the phone number of the boss behind this whole operation," Karen continued. "Our tech guys are accessing the call records for that phone number and cross-referencing them to the murdered drug dealers. Results will be in later this week." She turned to me and smiled. "Good work."

* * *

Morelli and I went to Pino's for dinner, an Italian-American restaurant famous in the Burg for greasy food and large portions. It attracted a clientele of cops and hospital workers just getting off work, and loud Italian-American families. We sat down in a booth and ordered meatball subs and Cokes.

Morelli leaned back in his seat and smiled at me. "I can't believe you."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I've been working this case on and off for months," he explained, "and I haven't gotten anything more than doors slammed in my face. You've been on for a few days and have found a cocaine sample, discovered that the boss is a female, and created a phone list of everyone involved. It's uncanny."

I smiled and sipped my drink.

"I used to think it was luck," he continued, "but you're actually really good at this."

"That almost sounds like a compliment," I said.

We finished our meal and were walking out to our cars in the parking lot when I noticed a glob of marinara sauce on my pants. I bent down to wipe it off when a shot rang out and hit the brick wall behind where I was just standing. Morelli and I dropped to the ground behind a car and pulled our guns out.

A bunch of cops rushed out of Pino's with their guns drawn.

"Someone took a shot at Stephanie," Morelli explained. A few cops fanned out to search the area and another one called it in to the police station.

I looked at the brick wall. "If I didn't bend over, it would've hit me," I said.

"I take it back," Morelli said to me, "you are damn lucky."

In the past, I've learned that whenever people start shooting at me, I'm getting dangerously close to closing a case. Since I only had one outstanding skip, Isiah Malone, who was more into rape that shooting, I was guessing I'd pissed off someone related to the cocaine drug ring.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Morelli and I spent our days going to meetings at the FBI office and pouring over the files of the murdered drug dealers, looking for clues we may have missed.

"Someone must know something," I pondered one day while looking through the files at the table in Morelli's kitchen. "Twenty-eight people don't get murdered without someone knowing something."

"Karen says it's a tight operation," Morelli said, eating his sandwich. "Her team has already read over each of these files, contacted everyone who knew the deceased, and searched through every apartment."

I rolled my eyes. I was really getting tired of hearing about Karen O'Reilly and her perfect task force and her perfect hair. Plus, I think I caught Morelli checking her out the other day during one of our meetings.

"Are you jealous?" He asked me.

"Who me?" I said.

"You are such a cupcake," Morelli said, kissing me on the head. "We'll have a lead once the phone records come back."

I stood up from the table and stretched out my legs. "I'm going to take Bob for a walk," I said. Bob was Morelli's shaggy golden retriever and he perked up his ears when he heard me say 'walk'.

"Let me get my shoes," Morelli said. "I'll go with you."

Ever since the shooting at Pino's, Morelli insisted on accompanying me everywhere I went. At the best of times it was moderately irritating and at the worst of times it was a real pain in the ass.

Morelli locked up the house while I clipped Bob onto his leash and we strode down the street with Morelli's arm around my shoulders. At the end of the street, I turned left just as he turned right.

"Ouch," I said. "You stepped on my foot."

"Sorry," Morelli said, "I'm just trying to guard your body. I'm not used to this."

In the past, whenever there was a threat on my life, it was Ranger who watched over me. But instead of staying suffocatingly-close to me like Morelli, he preferred a different approach. He would plant trackers on my car or purse, or have some of his Rangemen follow me, and I swear he hacked my phone too. It was stealthy and an invasion of my privacy, but came in handy when I needed rescuing.

Now without Ranger here, I only have Morelli, Tank's panic button, and my handgun.

We turned the next corner on our walk around the block and I got the feeling I was being followed. I stopped short.

"What is it?" Morelli asked me, wrapping his arms around me protectively.

"Someone's watching us," I said, looking around.

Morelli looked around too. "That's just Mrs. Pederson on her front porch. She watches everyone."

Morelli waved at Mrs. Pederson and we continued home.

I knew deep down that it wasn't Mrs. Pederson. There was someone else following me around, biding their time, waiting for a clear shot to end my life. Until then, my boyfriend was going to stick to me like glue. I needed to solve this case.

* * *

That night, we were invited over for dinner at my parent's house. We arrived at six o'clock on the dot and promptly made our way into the dining room. Grandma and her fiancé William were already at the table, along with my father, who was sitting at the head of the table, fork and knife in hand.

"How is it living in sin?" Grandma asked me once we had dished out our food and started eating.

"Mother!" my Mother scolded.

"It what all the kids are doing these days," Grandma continued. "You know, test drive the car before buying it. That's why William and I aren't waiting until after we're married to do it."

"Edna sure knows how to drive stick shift," William commented.

My father choked on his piece of steak. My mother took her glass of whiskey and knocked back the whole thing.

Morelli leaned into me and said, "What's been heard, cannot be un-heard."

* * *

The truth was, I was starting to get antsy living with Joe. I missed my apartment and living alone. Early the next morning I tripped over a pair of boxers that Morelli had left on the floor and stubbed my toe on the bed frame.

"Do you always have to leave your underwear on the floor?" I snapped at him.

"You're one to talk," he snapped back. "What about your mess on the bathroom counter? How much stuff do you need?"

"I'm a Jersey girl," my voice rising, "it's my God-given right to have cosmetics and hair products! And would it be too much to ask you to put down the toilet seat?"

"It's my house," he said, "my rules."

"If you want to marry me, it'll be my house too!"

"Geez," Morelli said, "I'm just saying clean up after yourself."

"You too."

* * *

On Friday, the results came in from the FBI tech guys and Karen presented the joint task force team with a list of contacts traced from the call log of the cocaine boss's cellphone.

"I've divided up the list into six pages," Karen addressed everyone at the conference table. "Each set of partners will take a page. I want to know who these people are, who they talk to, and how they spend their money and time."

Morelli and I took our page and headed back to his place.

We sat down at the kitchen table and plugged the ten names into the search engine on my laptop.

"This is going to take a while," I said.

"I can think of something to pass the time," Morelli answered, closing the gap between us.

Just as Morelli was getting frisky, a knock sounded on the door and Joe's brother Anthony and his three kids barged in.

"Joe," Anthony called, "you need to clean up the dog poo on your front lawn. Bobby stepped in it again."

"Again? Don't let him track it into the house," Morelli called back.

"What are they doing here?" I asked him. I backed out of his arms since the mood was effectively killed.

Morelli thought about it awhile. "The Mets must be playing tonight," he answered.

That meant Morelli's relatives and cop buddies stopped by to eat and drink and watch the game. It also meant Grandma Bella was going to be there with her lucky hat and casserole.

"Didn't you think to ask me?" I asked Morelli. After all, we were sharing his house, weren't we?

"I forgot," he said. "I can't help it if they show up."

Anthony's girl came up and started tugging on Joe's arm. "Uncle Joe," Angelina said, "where's our candy?"

Joe grabbed a bag of M&amp;Ms out of the cupboard and tossed it into the living room.

"Fetch," he said. And all three kids rushed after the bag.

There was some screaming and Bob was barking. Bob rushed into the kitchen carrying the bag of M&amp;Ms in his mouth, followed by the kids.

"Uncle Joe," little Anthony yelled, "Bob has our candy!"

"Don't let him eat it," Joe called. "Chocolate is bad for dogs." And he took off chasing Bob along with the kids.

The kitchen door opened and Morelli's sister and her two kids entered.

It was getting loud and I had to get out of the house before Grandma Bella arrived. Morelli himself was freakin' sexy and I enjoyed spending time with him, but his loud, blood sausage-eating, Italian family gave me hives. It was the perfect time to find my last skip, Isiah Malone. I went to the backyard to call Lula.

"Did you want to come with me to Stark Street to take down a skip who tried to rape me?" I asked her.

"Fuck yeah," she said. "We don't stand for that shit."

* * *

After a few hours of staking out Isiah girlfriend's apartment building, we finally saw Malone cross the street and enter the building.

"Let's roll," I said to Lula. We got out of the SUV, entered the building, and climbed the stairs.

On the fourth floor we heard shuffling and screaming coming from behind Isiah's door. Lula pulled a short barrel shotgun out of her oversized purse and adjusted the glasses on her face.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"This here's a SWAT gun loaded with lead shavings," she said. She aimed it at the door hinges and pulled the trigger. The hinge blew clean away. She pumped the gun and shot away the second hinge.

I put my boot to the door and kicked it open.

"Bond enforcement," I yelled.

"Freeze asshole!" Lula yelled.

Isiah's girlfriend was lying on the floor, her face swollen and bloody.

"You chicks never learn," Isiah said. And he rushed at me and tackled me to the ground.

We rolled around on the floor while Lula was digging in her purse for a handgun.

"Don't worry I got my glock in here somewhere," she said.

I got in a few good punches and kicks until Isiah pulled a knife and held it to my throat. He hauled me up to standing and used me as a shield between him and Lula, who was aiming her gun at him.

To say Lula wasn't the best shot was an understatement. The fact she was now pointing a gun at me made me nervous.

"One move and your friend is dead," Isiah said. He pushed the knife against my neck and the blade sliced my skin. I gasped and Lula pulled the trigger.

Isiah went down. I opened my eyes and found myself unharmed.

"Holy shit," Lula said, her eyes wide. "I got him in the knee."

I pulled out my cuffs and put them on Isiah with shaking hands. "How did you miss me?" I asked Lula.

"I must've needed glasses this whole time," she said.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Lula hid in the SUV while I gave my report to the police and the paramedics patched up my neck. Isiah was taken away by an ambulance accompanied by a police officer. I thanked Lula and dropped her off at her place.

* * *

When I got back to Morelli's house, I could feel the adrenaline still pumping from my encounter with Isiah. Joe was in the kitchen, standing with his hands on his hips.

"You went to Stark Street after dark to catch a rapist knowing that there's a hit out on you? Are you insane or just plain stupid?" He asked.

"I had backup," I loudly replied.

"And to top it all off, I didn't even know," he continued, his voice rising. "I had to find out from one of the guys at the station."

"I don't have to tell you everything."

"We're partners, we're supposed to be a team" Morelli yelled at me. He took the cocaine boss's contact list off the kitchen table and waved it at me. "You have to talk to me. Get used to it cupcake."

I grabbed the list out of his hand and tore it into two. I shoved half of the list into his hand.

"Our partnership is over," I spat out. "You take half and I'll take the other."

"That's just great," Morelli waved his hands in the air. "You can't go rogue. That's something I would expect from someone like Ranger, but not you."

"Excuse me?!" I yelled.

"Ranger was a loose cannon," Morelli yelled back. "He didn't give a shit about the law. I'm just glad that when he got killed he didn't take you down with him! He deserved to die!"

I saw red and punched Morelli square in the face. I hit him hard and I think I might have broken his nose. His hands went up to his face to stop the blood coming out of his nostrils.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled.

I was mad. And just for good measure, I kneed him in the balls. He crumpled to the floor into a fetal position. I shoved my laptop into my handbag, grabbed my keys and Rex and left.

I got into the Rangeman SUV and drove around for a while. Who the hell did Morelli think he was?

I drove around aimlessly for a while until I finally got my thoughts in order and headed back to my apartment. Dillon, my building manager, had called earlier in the day and told me that my apartment was ready for occupancy again.

It was after midnight by the time I walked into my apartment. I dropped my handbag, keys, and panic button at the door and walked into the living room. I kept the lights off to match my dark mood. I needed a movie and junk food.

Suddenly, a pair of arms grabbed me from behind. I steeled into action and everything Tank had taught me came flooding back into my mind. I flipped my assailant onto the floor and started kicking him. He got a hold of my leg and pulled me down on top of him. I tried to land a few punches, but his hands held my wrists. My knee was halfway to his groin when he spoke.

"Babe."

I froze. Only Ranger called me babe.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" He asked.

"Tank," I managed to say in my shocked state.

Ranger chuckled. "I should have known. He's the only one that can take me down."

"They told me you were dead," I said in a quiet voice.

"I almost was," he replied.

"I went to your funeral."

"I know."

"I cried for days," I continued. "And I punched Morelli in the face when he said you deserved to die."

"Babe."

"But you're alive."

"Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you so much to Whitmom for her help in this chapter by asking the questions she wanted answered.

J. Evanovich's new Plum book is called "Tricky Twenty-Two". I think Tragic Twenty-Two would've been better, but we'll see in November…

* * *

"_They told me you were dead," I said in a quiet voice._

"_I almost was," he replied._

"_I went to your funeral."_

"_I know."_

"_I cried for days," I continued. "And I punched Morelli in the face when he said you deserved to die."_

"_Babe."_

"_But you're alive."_

"_Yes."_

* * *

Chapter 7

I pondered this new knowledge and the fact that we were still on the floor, chest to chest and groin to groin. Ranger let go of my wrists and put his hands on each side of my waist, sliding them under my shirt.

"Do you have any more questions?" He asked.

Right now, I had so many questions and was feeling so many emotions, I couldn't figure them out. Neither Ranger nor I were good at acknowledging emotions; our actions had always spoke louder than words. So I kissed him deep and hard.

"Not now," I said.

He flipped us over and pulled off my shirt, followed by his. I frantically unbuttoned his pants as he undid mine. And suddenly he was inside me on the floor of my living room.

Sex with Ranger was like riding in a high performance car: fast, exhilarating, and a little rough. I came within a few minutes.

He picked me up by my thighs and carried me into my bedroom. He dropped me on my bed and looked at me for a second.

"I thought I wouldn't ever touch you again," he spoke quietly.

"Shh," I said. "Talk later."

I pulled him down onto the bed and he kissed his way down my torso to the promised land.

"Oh God," I moaned.

* * *

It was early morning. Ranger and I had showered and were standing in my kitchen waiting for the coffee maker to finish doing its thing. We didn't get a lot of sleep the night before, but I felt relieved and refreshed. There was just one thing that was bothering me.

"I just need to get something out of my system," I told Ranger.

"Sure," he said.

I slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you EVER pretend to be dead again," I warned.

Ranger rubbed his cheek. "I deserved that."

I got some bread out and put a few slices into the toaster. "What happened?" I asked.

Ranger sighed. Ranger never sighed, so that probably wasn't a good thing.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door. I looked at Ranger.

"Who knows you're alive?" I whispered to him.

"Just you," he whispered back.

I slowly headed towards the door as Ranger headed into my bedroom to hide.

"Steph," Tank's voice carried from behind the door. "If you don't open this door in five seconds, I'm breaking it down."

I had three locks on my door and a floor bolt, but if anyone could force their way inside, it would be Tank. I undid the locks and opened the door to Tank.

"Good morning," I said.

He came in with his gun drawn, scanning the room for threats. Once he was satisfied I was safe, he spoke to me.

"You didn't show up for training this morning," he said. "And your tracker wasn't at Morelli's. I thought something happened to you."

"Well, I, uh…" I totally forgot about self-defense lessons with Tank. Probably because Ranger and I were screwing our brains out for most of the night.

Just then, Ranger appeared in my bedroom doorway. Tank heard the sound and swung around and pointed his gun at Ranger. His jaw dropped.

"Ranger?" Tank said, astonished.

"Tank," Ranger replied.

The two men stood staring at each other for a few beats. I think they might have been communicating telepathically. Finally, Tank holstered his weapon and walked quickly over to Ranger. I thought they were going to hug until Tank punched Ranger in the gut.

"Ugh," said Ranger, bending over at the waist, clutching his stomach.

Without another word, Tank left. I turned to Ranger.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," Ranger managed. "He'll keep it a secret, but it'll be a while until he forgives me."

"I don't even know if I forgive you," I said.

Ranger straightened and smiled at me. "It sounded like you forgave me lots of times last night."

I rolled my eyes and we headed back into the kitchen. I popped down the toast for us to eat and grabbed the jar of peanut butter out of the cupboard. Ranger poured us each a cup of coffee.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"I was contacted by someone that I can't name who was high up in the FBI," Ranger said. "He was worried that there was a mole in the agency, leaking information related to a large drug trafficking ring."

"Cocaine?" I guessed.

"Yes," Ranger continued. "I was secretly put undercover, and only a few key FBI personnel knew. I had an advantage with my Newark roots and Cuban ancestry and quickly infiltrated the operation. It was a dangerous mission; a lot of people were dying."

"Were they shot with armor-piercing bullets?"

"Yes," Ranger answered with a smile. "I see you've heard this story before. I tracked the cocaine to a warehouse in Newark. It was the central drop point before being redistributed to mid-level dealers. Before I knew it, the whole warehouse exploded." He paused. "It was a set up and I barely got out of there alive."

"Tank said you died in the explosion," I said. "Why would you fake your own death?"

"Someone in the FBI declared me dead," Ranger explained. "It was convenient. There are advantages to being dead; it allows me certain freedoms."

"Such as?" I asked.

"I don't have to worry about my enemies trying to kill me," Ranger said. "The national news coverage of the polonium incident at Rangeman put me in the spotlight and exposed my location. One of my men almost died of radiation poisoning by just doing his job. By faking my death, I could put my men out of harm's way."

"And me," I said.

"Especially you," Ranger said softly.

"Where have you been this whole time?" I asked.

"I spent a bit of time in the hospital under an alias," he explained. "And I was debating whether to come back or not."

"So why did you come back?" I asked.

Ranger considered me for a moment. "Revenge." He paused and tucked a curl of my hair behind my ear. "And I can't seem to stay away from you. I never have."

"So what now?" I asked Ranger.

"I need to find out who the mole is in the FBI and who is in charge of the cocaine drug ring," Ranger explained. "My contact in Newark died in the warehouse explosion. His name was José and he was one of my best friends in college. I'm used to people trying to kill me, but when they mess with my friends, it becomes personal."

He stood and put his empty plate and mug in the sink. "I need someone in the FBI that I can trust."

"Someone like me," I said.

"Yes."

"I'm in." I closed the gap between us and put my hands on his chest. "Ranger. I thought you were dead." I paused and looked him in the eyes. "I am completely in."

"I have a couple questions for you," Ranger said.

I waited to let him continue.

"Since when did you sleep with your gun on your nightstand?" Ranger asked.

I sighed and sat down on the couch. "When you died, I changed. When one of my skips tried to rape me, I got smart and started taking self-defense lessons and carrying my gun."

"How are you involved in the cocaine drug ring?" He asked, sitting next to me.

I explained about finding the bag of cocaine in the church, the four dead skips, and Karen O'Reilly hiring me. I told him about Mooner and Dougie's cupcakes, the cell phone, the cocaine boss' voice encryption, the phone list, and how I thought I might have a hit out on me. After I was done, he sat back in his chair and pondered the information.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"I need you to pretend that I'm still dead," Ranger said. "Go about your daily business as normal."

He was asking me to go back to that dark place of grieving and I didn't know if I could do it. "You do realize that means sleeping with Morelli," I said.

Ranger looked pained. "Maybe don't try too hard."

"I'll relay you any information I get," I said. "How do I get in touch with you?"

"You don't," Ranger said. "I'll contact you."

It figures. Ranger was a man of mystery, which was part of his allure and a source of frustration for me.

The morning was getting late and I had another joint task force meeting at the FBI building. I put on my shoes and tucked my gun into the waistband of my jeans. I looked up to see Ranger staring at me with smoldering eyes.

"What?" I asked him.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you look, carrying your gun?"

I walked over to him and put my hand down to feel the front of his pants. "I have a good idea."

"You're killing me here," he said.

"Good thing you're already dead."

* * *

A/N: Just a short chapter, but I wanted to get it posted sooner than later.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: One of my pet peeves is when someone takes forever to write a story. I think you should never start a story unless you can finish it, and I fully intend on doing that. Sorry about the massive delay. I could make excuses about real life, and taking my time to develop new characters, but in the end I just want to say: Readers, thank you for hanging in there and your "Are you going to finish this?" reviews.

Chapter 8

As I drove to the FBI building, I tried to get into the zone. I reviewed everything in my mind. There was a mole in the FBI leaking information related to the cocaine drug ring, which led to the death of Ranger's friend, José, and the supposed death of Ranger. This person was under control of a female who is only known as the boss. She's orchestrating the whole operation, and was smart enough to use voice encryption and lethal enough to murder anyone who would jeopardize her operation. Unfortunately, I was on that list.

I was working for the FBI as a contractor on Karen O'Reilly's joint task force team with Morelli as my partner, who I was still mad at for being an insensitive jerk. I was also working with Ranger, while pretending he's still dead.

I needed to get rid of the hit out on me, find the cocaine boss, discover who the mole was, and help Ranger avenge his friend's death. I needed to get into the mindspace I call my inner Ranger. I needed to be a badass, crime-fighting, superhero. I hooked up my phone to the Rangeman SUV's sound system and cranked up Volbeat. By the time I parked underground and rode the elevator to the sixth floor, I was there.

I strode into the conference room and sat next to Morelli. I figured if one of the other people in the room was the mole in the FBI responsible for murder, I'd take the lesser of the two evils.

"Joe," I said to him coldly as a way of greeting.

"Steph", he replied. He had a big bandage covering his nose and his cheeks were an ugly shade of purple and green. He looked tired, like he spent all night in the hospital.

"Broken?" I asked him.

"Yep," he answered.

I would say I was sorry for punching him in the face, but I wasn't, so we sat in silence until Karen called the meeting to order.

"Good morning everyone," she said cheerfully, "Sorry to call everyone in on a Saturday, but as we all know, crime doesn't take weekend breaks."

Involuntarily, I rolled my eyes.

"Let's get started by going over those phone lists," Karen continued, "I need each set of partners to give me a full report."

There were twelve people on the joint task force team, divided into six pairs, including Morelli and myself. As each set of partners went over their list of names and what they found, I studied them to determine if they were leaking information to the cocaine boss. This person would be risking their career and probable jail-time so they would have to have strong motivation to do this: either for power, money, or sex.

I ruled out anyone who looked unambitious, happily married, or too patriotic. The mole would be someone who was living above their means, unhappy with the system, and corruptible.

This left three people as suspects. Pedro Hernandez was from the Camden police force, in his late 30s, and wasn't wearing a wedding band. He had pulled an all-nighter researching his phone list and gave an extensive review. He looked to be really devoted, but he was the only Hispanic on the task force, so that linked him to the murders.

Then there was Suzanne Moutis, from the Trenton FBI office. She was in her early 40s and the only female on the task force, other than myself. She had short, dirty blond hair and was wearing a badly-fitted suit. And by the way she looked at Karen O'Reilly with stars in her eyes, I think she might have been lesbian. But she looked like she had something to prove, so she couldn't be ruled out.

The last suspect was Richard Black, a sleazy-looking guy in his mid 40s, from the Newark Police Department. He had slicked back, greasy brown hair, pasty skin and was wearing a leather jacket over top of his button-down shirt which had one too many buttons undone. I wondered if he was living above his means and what type of car he drove. He caught me staring at him and winked at me.

Karen's voice interrupted my train of thought.

"And finally Morelli and Plum," she said. "What have you found?"

I looked at Morelli and he glanced at me. Other than plugging the ten names into a search engine, we hadn't done anything else to further the case.

"We're working on it," Morelli said to the group.

There was a pause. "I see," said Karen. "Do you have any progress you would like to share with the group?"

"Nothing yet," I confirmed.

"Alright people," Karen addressed the group. "We'll meet again on Tuesday. I need some results by then." She shot a sideways glance at me.

The meeting adjourned and I found myself walking to the elevator beside Morelli.

"You look different today," Morelli stated, "Perkier."

"It was nice sleeping in my own bed," I said. Sleeping with Ranger was even better.

"Sleep would have been nice," he replied. "I spent all night waiting in the emergency room in the hospital for an X-ray. There was an apartment fire, a bunch of car accidents, and a lot of gunshot wounds. I've never seen it so crowded before."

We rode the elevator down to the parking lot.

"I'm going home to take a nap," Morelli said. "And Tylenol."

As I tried to see what type of car Richard Black drove, I found Morelli trailing after me.

"Are you still planning on going rogue?" He asked. I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned around with my hands on my hips.

"Yep," I replied.

Morelli sighed and stared at his shoes for a few beats. He looked up and had a bit of softness in his eyes. "I won't try to talk sense into you, because we all know you won't listen."

This was true.

"So I'll just say this," he continued, closing the gap between us, "You have a way of getting into trouble. You've been thrown off a bridge by my godfather, held hostage by crazies who sold body organs on the black market and I still don't know what happened in Atlantic City with Ranger, but you came back wearing clothing with monkeys all over it and a broken nose."

Morelli was right in front of me. He reached out a hand and caressed the side of my face. "You also have a knack of getting out of trouble. Just stay safe."

With that, he walked over to his Jeep Cherokee and drove off.

* * *

I still had the body receipt for my last skip, Isiah Malone, so I drove over to the bonds office to pick up my cheque before Connie headed home early since it was a Saturday. I parked at the back of the building, and after doing a thorough scan of the rooftops, I called the office.

"Plum bail bonds," Connie answered.

"It's Steph," I said. "Could you open the back door?"

"Sure," she said.

Once I saw Connie at the back door, I left my Rangeman SUV and quickly entered the bonds office. Connie shut the door and looked at me.

"What was that about?" She asked.

"There might be someone out to get me," I explained.

"Is it Morelli?" Lula's voice carried from the front of the office. "'Cuz I heard that you broke his nose."

"Oh my God, did he try to put it in the back door when you two were doing it and told you it slipped?" Connie asked.

"I hate it when guys do that," Lula said. "It's disrespectful. If a man wants to ride the train to brown town with Lula, all they gotta do is ask."

I paused to digest that statement. "No, there were no back door shenanigans involved."

"So I guess you two aren't engaged anymore," Connie said.

"We weren't to begin with," I said, "and no, we're still not."

I decided to change the subject. "I have the body receipt for Isiah Malone."

Connie wrote me out a cheque. "There's no new skips. Vinnie's been over the moon because no one is jumping bail."

When people show up for their court date, it means that Vinnie doesn't have to pay me ten percent of the bond to track them down. That was okay, I was busy enough already.

"Give me a call if anything comes in," I said.

Just then, my phone rang. The caller ID displayed it as Grandma's cell phone.

"Hello?" I said.

"Stephanie." It wasn't Grandma, it was my mother. "If you do not get down to Tina's bridal salon this minute, the next time you see me, I'm going to be in jail for murdering your Grandma."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Your Grandma is trying on wedding dresses," she said. "We've been here for over an hour and I'm at my wit's end. I stole her cell phone so she'd stop taking selfies of herself and posting them on Facebook."

"I'll be right there," I told her.

I hung up and rolled my eyes. I had been trying to distance myself from Grandma's wedding fiasco.

"My Grandma's trying on wedding dresses and my Mom needs my help," I told Connie and Lula.

"This I gotta see," Lula said, standing up from the couch. "It's not every day you see an old lady dressed in white instead of black."

* * *

The bridal salon was located next to the Tasty Bakery and was owned and operated by Mary DeLorenzo, who didn't speak much English except the occasional "s'cuse-a me" when she accidently poked you in the boob with a sewing pin when doing dress alterations.

Lula and I were ushered into the back where the fitting rooms were. My mother was sitting on one of the couches in the hallway looking like she needed a scotch on the rocks. She looked up when she heard me.

"Thank God you're here," she said. "Mother insists on trying on every dress they have."

The dressing room door opened and Grandma stepped out in a fitted strapless dress reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. It was a beautiful dress, but on Grandma it just looked…

"Damn, that's wrong" said Lula. "That dress so ain't right for you."

"What's wrong with this one?" demanded Grandma.

"I don't mean to be rude," Lula explained, "but if you raised your arms, you'd have a wardrobe malfunction."

Lula was right. Grandma wasn't fat, but she had a lot of skin. And gravity hadn't been kind to her skin. The bodice of the dress was barely hanging on to her boobs, which were already low enough.

"You think?" said Grandma, raising her arms.

Sure enough, the dress slipped right down to her hips, exposing her entire naked torso.

My mother gasped and covered her eyes.

"Well what do you know," Grandma said. "You were right."

"Of course I'm right," Lula said. "If I know anything, I know when clothes ain't gonna cover up your lady parts."

Grandma hitched up the dress and went back into the dressing room.

My mother turned to me.

"I will give you anything to get me out of planning this wedding," she said. "Desserts for life. Laundry and ironing. And I'll stop bugging you about getting married. Anything."

It was a tempting offer. I loved my mother's pineapple upside-down cake. And the way her fingernails were digging into my arm, I don't think I could say no.

"Ok, fine," I said.

"I can help," Lula said. "I'll plan the shit outta your Granny's wedding."

* * *

My Mother left Lula and I at the bridal salon and drove home. She probably made a bee-line to the kitchen cupboard where she kept her hooch.

After an hour, I was getting bored and really wanted to get back home to my laptop to do some research. Lula and Grandma hit it off and finally they chose a dress together. I dropped them both off at the bonds office so they could plan other wedding stuff and drove to my apartment building.

I parked as close as I could to the building, and after doing a thorough check for snipers, made a dash to the front door. I rode the elevator up to the second floor and opened my door.

After dumping my stuff at the front door, I took my laptop out of my bag and put it down on my dining room table.

I started it up and was just about to plug in Pedro Hernandez, Suzanne Moutis, and Richard Black's names into the search engine when a male voice spoke right beside my right ear.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Eeek!" I swung my right elbow behind me and caught the intruder in the face. I stood up from my chair, ready to defend myself.

"Ow." It was Ranger. "You need to stop hitting me in the face."

"Where did you come from?" I asked, my blood pressure dropping down from a stroke level.

"I was in the bathroom when you got home," he explained.

"Geez," I said. "Next time make some noise."

"You shouldn't do a background search on cops or FBI agents," Ranger said, pointing at the laptop screen. "It sets off red flags on your IP address."

"Good to know," I said.

"How was your day?" He asked.

"I didn't get shot at," I said. "But I'm now planning my Grandma's wedding, and if I ever have to go into another bridal salon, I'd rather take the bullet instead."

That got a 200-watt smile out of Ranger. He didn't smile very often, so it was nice to know I amused him.

"What about the FBI mole?" He asked.

"I've come up with three suspects on the joint task force," I told him. "Pedro Hernandez, Suzanne Moutis, and Richard Black."

"Pedro Hernandez is clean," he said.

"How do you know?"

"He's my cousin."

"Really?"

"I have a lot of cousins."

"So that leaves Suzanne and Richard," I said. "If I were a betting girl, I'd choose Richard."

"Why's that?" Ranger asked.

"He's sleazy."

"Follow both of them," he said. "See what they're up to. What about the cocaine boss' phone list?"

"I ran a basic search for all ten names that Karen gave me," I said. I turned to my computer and opened the file. There were over 300 results.

I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and Ranger and I took a seat at the dining table. We sifted through some of the results, but nothing stood out. It was if someone Googled 'top ten Hispanic names' and put them on our phone list. Each name had over thirty hits in the Newark, Trenton, and Camden area. Finally, Ranger stood up and stretched.

"Are you planning on having any visitors?" He asked.

"No," I replied. "Why?"

"I'm staying here tonight."

"I thought my apartment wasn't safe enough for you."

"Rangeman monitors your apartment entryway and your front door and I had shatterproof glass installed in your windows a few months ago."

I walked up to one of the windows. It looked the same as ever, with dirt marks and everything. "I didn't even notice."

"I'm sneaky."

I sauntered up to him. Having Ranger in my personal space was an aphrodisiac.

"What else can you do when I'm not looking?" I teased him, running my hand down his chest.

"Why don't you put on a blindfold and we can find out?" He replied. I should know by now that Ranger never backs down.

Oh, boy.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I woke up in my bed in a tangle of limbs with Ranger. We were both naked and my cell phone was ringing. I reached over my gun and grabbed it off my nightstand.

"Ungh," I said.

"Steph," Grandma said, "I need Lula's phone number. We still need to plan the menu at the caterers and order the cake from the bakery."

I paused, waiting for my brain to wake up. "What time is it?" I finally asked.

"It's just before six," Grandma answered. "But the bakery opens in five minutes and if we don't get our order in early enough, they won't have time to special order in all the decorations I need."

I paused again, blinking my eyes. "When is your wedding?" I asked.

"Geez woman," Grandma said. "It's in three months. You're planning my wedding; you should know things like this. I need to talk to Lula. She understands how much work it is to plan a wedding. We just got the invitations sent out and the flowers ordered. We need to pick bridesmaids dresses next and I can't decide on the color."

"I'll text you her number."

"Do it as soon as you hang up," Grandma said. "I don't want you falling back asleep."

"Fine."

I sent her Lula's number and flopped backwards onto my pillow. Ranger was silently chuckling beside me. I turned to him.

"Stop laughing, it's not funny," I told him.

"Stephanie Plum," he teased, "the wedding planner."

"Oh shut up," I replied. "One day you might get married again."

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked me straight in the eyes. He reached over and pushed a curl of hair out of my face. "I might," he said.

It was a serious moment with serious implications. I didn't know how comfortable I was with that.

"You know," I said lightly, "if you weren't already dead."

"There are ways around that," he countered.

We stared at each other for a few beats. There was no amusement in his eyes; he was deadly serious.

"I have to pee," I said, getting out of bed and making my way to the bathroom.

* * *

Once I was done getting ready, I found Ranger in the kitchen pouring coffee into mugs. He put a giant scoop of sugar and a generous helping of milk into one and handed it to me. The other mug he left black for himself.

"I need to find out more about Suzanne Moutis and Richard Black," I said.

"Ask Tank to run a search at Rangeman," said Ranger. He left Tank his elite security company in his will, and it housed a lot of sophisticated equipment that could probably get a lot sensitive information. Their programs would find a way around FBI and police detection. "And say hi to Tank for me."

"What are you doing today?" I asked Ranger.

"I'll be around," he answered.

"I need a way to contact you," I said.

"I thought you'd ask," Ranger replied. He pulled a black flip-phone out of one of his cargo pockets.

"I'll leave you this burner phone so I can stay in touch with you. My contact number is in there under an alias, Marc Pardo."

I got in my Rangeman SUV and fought my way through traffic over to Rangeman. I parked on the street and entered the glass doors. The guy at the front desk buzzed me in and motioned me to the elevators.

I rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made my way across the control room. Tank's office was located right beside Ranger's old office, which was dark and had its door closed.

I knocked on Tank's door.

"Enter," his voice boomed.

I walked in and took a seat at his desk.

"Marc Pardo says hi," I told Tank.

He mumbled something under his breath and shuffled some papers aside onto a growing stack on the corner of his desk.

"Fucking paperwork," he said. "All I do in a day is paperwork."

"It's still early," I replied. "You might even get to shoot someone today."

That got a snort and a half-smile out of him.

"I need to find out everything about a cop and an FBI agent without getting detected," I said.

"Not a problem," Tank answered.

I gave him the names. Suzanne Moutis worked for the Trenton FBI, so she probably lived locally, but Richard Black was from the Newark Police force, so he would be staying somewhere temporarily while working in Trenton.

"I need to find where Richard Black is staying while he's in Trenton."

"That's easy," Tank said. "Every visiting cop stays at the Super 8 Motel on Broad. There's a donut shop, a bar, and a strip club right there."

I exited the building onto the street and hurried to my Rangeman fleet SUV. I didn't like being so exposed. In my haste, I dropped my car keys and bent down to pick them up just as a gunshot rang out. A bullet hit the car panel behind me. I dropped to the ground and rolled underneath the SUV. Two more bullets hit the concrete in front of me and one hit my shoulder bag that I had dropped. I reached into my pocket and pushed the panic alarm Tank had given me.

I stayed under the vehicle until I could see a swarm of black Rangeman boots.

"Under here," I said.

One of the Rangeman guys helped pull me out as Tank was ordering teams to spread out to find the shooter.

Tank inspected the bullet hole in the Rangeman SUV. "You've done worse," he said.

I looked at the bullet hole in my shoulder bag. "He killed my purse," I said. "This guy is going down."

* * *

I swapped out the SUV for Ranger's Porsche Cayenne. Tank informed me that all of Ranger's cars were fully equipped with bulletproof windows, enhanced body armor, run-flat tires, and a lock box under the driver's seat for a gun. They were essentially army transport vehicles in Porsche clothing.

My cell phone rang and I answered it using the vehicle's Bluetooth.

"Steph," It was Grandma. "I need you to come pick me up at the bridal salon, Lula's car won't fit all of the bridesmaids' dresses."

I rolled my eyes and did a U-turn at the light and made my way back into the 'Burg. When I arrived at the bridal salon, Grandma and three of her friends were waiting at the curb, next to a big box of dress bags.

Grandma's friend whistled. "That's a beaut of a car."

"It was a hand-me-down," I said, opening the back doors up.

"Stephanie inherited it from her boyfriend that died," Grandma explained, hopping up into the front passenger seat.

"He wasn't my boyfriend," I said, as I shoved the big box of dresses into the back.

"If he left you a Porsche," one of Grandma's friends said, "you two were more than just friends."

Another one of Grandma's friends piped up. "When my Gregor passed away, all he left me was his debts and a goldfish."

When everyone was inside and buckled up, I pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of my parent's house. Grandma's friends were a chatty bunch.

"I've never ridden before in a Porsche," said one of Grandma's friend. "Could you drive past Olga Snively's house so I can gloat?"

"Could you drive over to my son's house? He's always loved Porsches," said another.

"What are these floor bolts for in the back seat? Is it for something kinky?"

"Have you ever had sex in a Porsche before?"

"Can I drive? I'm not legally blind yet."

* * *

I drove around the 'Burg dropping off Grandma's friends at their houses. The last stop was my parent's house to drop off Grandma.

"Did you want to come in for lunch?" Grandma said. "Lula and I were going to work on the table centerpieces afterwards."

I'd rather stick a fork in my eye. "No thanks," I said. "I'm busy."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Grandma said. "We need to be at the caterer's at lunchtime."

I pulled away from the curb and after a few blocks, Tank called me with Suzanne Moutis' address. The rest of the search results could be picked up from Rangeman. The address was an apartment building very close to Giovinnchi's market, and I was hungry.

I did a U-turn at the next light and headed in that direction. I figured after I got lunch, I could stake out the neighborhood and covertly watch for Suzanne, see if she meets up with any Hispanic drug dealers.

Giovinnchi's was an Italian deli that served the population of the 'Burg. It specialized in deli meat and cheeses, carried a wide selection of coffee cakes, and made a mean sandwich.

I parked the Cayenne at the curb and walked in. It was busy with Sunday shoppers, just getting off of church and picking up their groceries for the week. I made my way through the crowd and stood in the sandwich line.

Gina Giovinnchi was working behind the deli case. I had gone to school with her. She had since gotten married and changed her last name, but I couldn't remember what it was.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, I got to the front of the line and was just to give Gina my order when a voice spoke from behind me.

"YOU!" It was Morelli's Grandma Bella.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I turned around and saw Grandma Bella in her Sunday best, wearing a black overcoat and a scarf over her hair. Her face was all screwed up in rage like a witch and her finger was pointing at me.

People in the market scattered as she advanced on me. Gina ducked behind the deli case. I stood my ground.

"You evil woman," she spat out. "You broke my Joey's nose!"

Technically Joe's nose had been broken more than a few times in bar fights during his younger, wilder years, but I don't think Grandma Bella counts those.

"I'm going to give you the finger!" She continued. "You will never get married! You will never have children! You will live in exile and die in hell!"

She put her finger to her nose, did a weird little dance and spat at my feet. She then picked up her groceries off the floor and left.

I turned back to the deli case. "Can I have a turkey bacon club?" I asked Gina.

"No way," she said. "Bella just gave you the finger. I can't serve you or I'll get it too."

I didn't understand the reasoning, but I wasn't getting my sandwich. I left Giovinnchi's and went across the street to a café for lunch.

When I walked in, the smell of roasting coffee filled my nostrils. I looked around and saw Suzanne Moutis sitting at one of the tables. She waved me over. So much for secretly spying on her.

"Hi," she said brightly, "Stephanie right?"

"Yup," I answered.

A waiter came over and took our order. I got a chicken salad sandwich on white bread and a double chocolate mocha with extra whipping cream. Suzanne got a vegetarian wrap with a skim soy milk latte.

"How's it going?" She asked me.

"Same as always," I said. "How are you?"

"Frustrated," she said. "I'm not making any headway on this cocaine case. The suspects on my list are disappearing as soon as I find them."

Our drinks and meal came. I bit into my sandwich as Suzanne continued talking.

"The first guy on my list was from Hamilton Township," she said. "I tracked him down and my partner and I staked out his apartment. He came home and minutes later, his whole building was on fire. He got trapped inside and was declared dead when the firemen found him."

Suzanne took a sip of her latte. "The next guy was killed in a car accident. We were tailing him on Broad Street and this van comes out of nowhere and T-boned him in the driver's side."

She took a bite out of her veggie wrap. "It was rush hour and pandemonium. There were four more collisions in the intersection."

"Did you catch the driver of the van?" I asked.

"He got away," she said. "Witnesses said he was wearing a ski mask. The van was stolen, so we don't have any leads."

"The third guy lived on Stark Street," she continued. "I pulled up to see him and his friends playing basketball and next thing I know, there's a spray of gunfire and he's face-down on the sidewalk with half a dozen bullets to his chest."

"At least you found some of your suspects," I said. "Each person on my list could be one of dozens with the same name."

Suzanne sighed and ran her hand through her short dirty blond hair. "I joined the FBI to make a difference. To put my Princeton education to work. I've been here for ten years only to find that it's a man's world. I've been discriminated against just because I'm a woman, watching from the sidelines, but that's going to change."

I zoned out for a bit. My sandwich tasted a little off. Maybe the mayo in the chicken salad was a bit sour. The last time I had food that tasted funny, I was bodyguarding Ranger and ate poisoned food meant for him. I wondered if Suzanne knew I was onto her. I put down my sandwich and had a sip of my mocha.

"…I'm going to show them all." Suzanne was still talking. "Being on Karen's task force, I'm going to show them what I'm capable of. They won't ignore me anymore."

She put her hand on my arm, "You understand," she said. "You're a woman, just like me."

"Uh, yeah," I agreed. All of a sudden I didn't feel very safe with Suzanne.

"Look at the time," I said, knocking back the rest of my mocha. "I need to get going."

We paid for our lunch and exited the café. I found Suzanne walking me to my vehicle. My stomach was rumbling and doing flip-flops. I think I needed to find a bathroom quick.

"Maybe sometime we could grab dinner together?" She asked.

I was distracted, scanning the rooftops looking for my shooter. "Yeah, sure."

"I think you and I really have a connection," she said. "We're both in the same circumstances."

There was nobody on the rooftops, hanging out the windows, or on their balconies holstering a sniper rifle. "Yeah, definitely," I said, digging in my purse for my keys.

"I'll call you and make plans," Suzanne said. She leaned in and touched my arm.

That got my attention and I looked up. She was standing way too close. Before I knew it, she put her hand behind my head and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

I was rooted to the spot, unable to move out of shock.

"Bye Stephanie," Suzanne said, as she walked down the street back to her apartment.

What the hell just happened? Somehow a covert stakeout turned into a date with kissing.

My stomach did another rumble. I got my keys out of my purse and unlocked the Cayenne. I ran all of the yellow lights and made it back to my apartment just in time.

* * *

It turned out that it wasn't food poisoning, and after a few hours at home, I was fine.

I sighed. It was hard to say whether Suzanne was the mole in the cocaine drug ring. She definitely had enough of the system, but was it enough to sell out?

My next step was to follow Richard Black, the cop from Newark. I got into the Cayenne and drove over to the Super 8 Motel on Broad. The donut shop was closed. The bar and strip club were still open. It was around dinnertime, so I entered the bar.

I headed straight to the bathrooms, while scanning the room.

I found Richard in one of the back booths, talking animatedly with two Hispanic guys who looked to be in their late 30s. Bingo.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. I pretended to drink it while trying to keep my head down so that Richard wouldn't see me. I strained to hear their conversation, but the room noise was too loud.

After a few minutes, the two Hispanic guys got up and left.

Shortly thereafter, Richard got up. He whispered in my ear as he walked past me.

"Meet me next door."

Next door was a strip club. I waited a few minutes, paid my tab, and left the bar. So much for going unnoticed.

I walked into the strip club. The lights were dark and there were neon lights lighting up the stage. A girl was onstage doing her thing, as waitresses hurried between tables. It was surprising busy for a Sunday night, but it was a special event, amateur's night.

Richard was waiting for me at a table in a back corner. He saw me come in and waved me over.

"I'm surprised," he said, eyeing me up. "I didn't think you had the guts to come."

I sat down and a waitress in a tiny bikini came over to take our drink order, waving her boobs a little too close to my face for my liking.

I once went to a strip bar with Ranger to follow a lead on a case. With him, I felt comfortable. With Richard, I felt seedy.

"Why are you following me?" He asked.

"I just wanted to get to know you," I said.

A smile spread across his face. He undid two more buttons on the front of his shirt, exposing his hairy chest all the way down to the top of his gut. "Of course you do, all the ladies want a taste of Rich."

I swallowed back my disgust. "Do you come here often?"

"Pretty much daily," he said. "I try to unwind after a long day after being in the FBI cocaine club with Karen O'Reilly. Nothing loosens me up like having big tits slapped in my face and a lap dance."

Our drinks appeared, and I took a sip.

"So, what do you like doing?" I asked Richard.

"Pretty much everything," he said. "Sixty-nine, anal, doggie, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, threesomes, foursomes. But if you're into kink, we could do that too. I could tie you up and slap you around a bit."

I wasn't getting any information out of this guy and every second word was verbal diarrhea.

"I mean, what do you do when you're not working?" I tried.

"Do you want a lap dance?" Richard asked. "I'll pay as long as you let her feel you up and I can watch."

"No thanks," I said.

"God you're cranky," Richard said. "Are you on the rag or something?"

My eyes narrowed, "Excuse me?"

He leaned into me and said slowly as if I was stupid, "Are. You. Bleeding. From. Your. Happy. Hole?"

I thought I've had my share of assholes between working as a lingerie buyer and a bounty hunter, but this guy took the cake.

"I'm out of here," I said as I stood up.

"Probably for the best," Richard retorted, leaning back in his seat. "'Cause once you go Black, you can't go back."

* * *

I left the strip bar and went home to take a shower. After a good half hour of scalding hot water, I felt clean again. I put on my flannel pajamas, grabbed a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream out of the freezer, and sat down in front of the TV.

A beep came from my burner phone. It was a text from Ranger. _ I'm coming in, don't shoot._

A few seconds later, Ranger walked through my front door.

After throwing all the locks behind him, he took off his jacket and boots and left them by the front door. He emptied his pockets and placed everything on my kitchen counter along with his gun. He came into the living room where I was sitting and sat down on the couch next to me.

Without saying anything, he looked in my eyes and sighed. He grabbed the ice cream out of my hand and ate a spoonful before giving it back. I've never seen Ranger eat ice cream before.

"Rough day?" I asked.

"Do you know how hard it is to follow you, _all day_?" He said.

"You were following me?" I said.

"I wanted to get a bead on your shooter," he explained. "Tank called me after your incident at Rangeman, so I've been tracking you ever since. I followed you all over the 'Burg with a bunch of old ladies, saw you get kissed by a girl, and then go into a strip club. I got a reputation in the Army Rangers for being one of the best trackers, but you've been the hardest, Babe."

"It's good to know that I'm good at something," I said. "Because I'm horrible at following people without them noticing me."

"It's hard not to notice you," Ranger said, pushing a curl of hair behind my ear. "You're unforgettable."

* * *

In the morning, I went to my closet to get dressed. Hanging alongside my shirts and dresses were men's clothing. I looked in my dresser and found boxer briefs, socks, and men's pants and jeans. I think the most surprising thing of all is that they weren't all black.

"Are you moving in?" I called out to Ranger, who was in the kitchen.

He walked into my bedroom, wearing only a pair of black boxers. "Is that a problem?"

"Nope," I said, putting on a pair of jeans and a girlie T-shirt. "You do realize your clothes are in color, right?"

He half-smiled. "I'm in disguise."

"I'm looking forward to seeing it."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Enjoy!

Chapter 10

A knock sounded on my apartment door. Ranger and I looked at each other in the bedroom. He was in a pair of boxer briefs and I was in the middle of putting on my T-shirt. I still had a hit out on me and Ranger was still pretending to be dead to everyone in the world except for me and Tank. I tossed my T-shirt on the bed, grabbed my gun off my nightstand, checked it for bullets, and approached my door.

I peered through the peep hole. It was Morelli. He had replaced the bandage over his broken nose with a simple Band-Aid. Most of his face was greeny-brown from brusing where I had punched him.

"What do you want?" I asked through the door.

"I'm just checking in," Morelli said. "Are you still alive?"

"Yes," I said.

There was a pause.

"You're not going to let me in, are you?" Morelli asked.

Not with Ranger in the next room. "Nope," I said.

I heard a sigh through the door.

"We need to take a different approach," Morelli said. "I've looked into the names on our phone list and they're all dead ends."

That's what Ranger and I found too. I agreed with Morelli. Even though I hadn't completely forgiven him for what he said about Ranger, I needed to work with him on this FBI case.

"Cruise Mendez and Antonio Torres weren't the only skips that were shot dead with armor-piercing bullets," I said. "Connie said that there were two others. We can check out their apartments."

"I can get access," said Morelli. As a cop, Morelli can get into more places than I could. Legally, at least.

"I'll get the addresses from Connie and we can meet up later in the morning," I said.

Morelli left and I returned to the bedroom to find Ranger in an olive green T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Both the T-shirt and jeans hugged him in all the right places and I found lust rising inside me.

As Ranger tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, I managed to tamper down the lust and focus on getting myself dressed. No work would get done if I let that get out of hand. I put down my gun and grabbed my T-shirt off the bed.

"I'll be following you again today," Ranger said. "I want to find your hitman and ask him some questions."

"So I'll try to be bait," I said. "I'll let you know where I'm going so it won't be so hard on you."

Ranger's hands wound their way under my shirt and around my naked waist and worked their way up and down.

"You're so soft," his husky voice whispered in my ear.

A moan escaped me.

Screw it. Getting work done is overrated.

* * *

A while later, as I drove to the bonds office in the Porsche Cayenne, I reviewed my mental to-do list for the day. I needed to check out apartments with Morelli. I also needed some information to present at tomorrow's FBI task force meeting so that Karen O'Reilly doesn't give me any more bad looks. I also had to pick up the search results from Rangeman that Tank had ran on my two FBI mole suspects, Richard Black and Suzanne Moutis. And then find a way to spy on them. Oh, and find the shooter that's trying to kill me and discover the cocaine boss behind this whole mess. There was something else too, but I figured if it was important, I would've remembered it.

I pulled up to the curb and found a parking spot directly in front of the bonds office. It must be the Porsche parking karma. After a quick check of the rooftops, I got out and walked into the office.

Connie and Lula were standing still, staring at me. A bit of drool was coming out of Connie's mouth and Lula's glasses had slid down her face to the very tip of her nose.

I looked down at myself to check that my shirt wasn't on backwards.

"I give up," I said. "What is it?"

"Is that Ranger's Cayenne?" Connie asked.

"He gave it to me in his will," I explained.

"Oh, Lordy," exclaimed Lula. "For a second, when it pulled up to the curb, I thought Ranger was going to get out, like he was some immortal superhero hunting for zombies."

"I'm pretty sure zombies aren't real," I said.

"You don't have proof," Lula countered. "That's something I've been reading. You can't know for sure something ain't true unless you have proof. That real tangible stuff."

Connie and I went silent for a beat. You couldn't really argue with that.

Connie turned to me. "So why are you _driving_ Ranger's Porsche?"

"It's a set of wheels," I said with a shrug.

"That ain't just no set of wheels," Lula said. "Do you know how much that's worth?"

"And you don't have the best track record with cars," Connie piped up.

It was true. Most of my cars don't last more than a few months. I've got awful luck with cars. And in the past when I've borrowed Ranger's, they tend not to last more than a few days.

"If you were smart," Lula said, putting her glasses on top of her head, "You would sell it and use the money for a down payment for a house or put it in a 401(k) or a Roth IRA."

Connie and I looked at Lula like she was speaking a foreign language.

"Just sayin'," Lula said.

I turned to Connie. "I need the addresses for the other two drug dealer FTAs that were shot."

She looked them up in the computer and printed out their files.

"The first one killed was Geraldo Chavez," Connie stated. "He lived in an apartment a few blocks up from Clinton Street."

Clinton Street ran parallel with Stark Street in one of the worst areas of town.

"The other FTA was Enrique Mendoza," Connie continued. "He lived a block away from Chavez."

"Word on the street is that someone's cleaning house," Lula said. "It's become a dangerous thing to be a cocaine dealer. Most people I know are changing over to dealing pot, meth or E."

I put the files into my shoulder bag and headed out towards the door.

"Oh and Steph," Connie said. "Good luck. With the Porsche, I mean."

* * *

I called Morelli with the addresses and arranged to meet him in half an hour.

Then, I took out the small flip-phone that Ranger had given me and sent him a text, _Headed to Clinton Street with Morelli._

After a few seconds, he replied, _Babe_.

I stopped by the Tasty Pastry and picked up a couple doughnuts. I ate a Boston Crème and a jelly filled doughnut on my way over to Stark Street. That part of town always made me uneasy, no matter how many times I've been there. Lula was right, emotional eating was the way to go. The fat-sugar combination eased any jitters I had.

I pulled up to Clinton Street and parked the Cayenne at the curb behind Morelli's police cruiser. In this part of town, your vehicle choice made a statement. Morelli's statement was don't mess with the police. I didn't know what statement I was trying to make, but only drug dealers and high-end pimps could afford a Porsche, so I figured I was pretty safe.

I got out of my car and walked over to Morelli, who was leaning up against the cop car.

"Is that Ranger's Porsche?" Morelli said, eyeing up my car.

"He left it to me in his will," I explained.

Morelli chuckled. "And here I thought Ranger didn't have a sense of humor."

I arched my eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're death on cars," Morelli said. "Giving you a Porsche is like a really expensive gag gift."

I was moderately insulted. I didn't really expect to be in Ranger's last will and testament, but it was nice that I meant something to him. But it stung a little that Morelli was kinda right, too. Of course, if Morelli knew that Ranger had left me _three_ cars, he might be a little jealous.

We found Geraldo Chavez's apartment building, and gained access from the landlord. On the second floor, crime scene tape was on his apartment door. The landlord let us in.

Morelli and I found Chavez's apartment to be a basic one-bedroom unit, in the standard 1980s furnishings with a 60" hi-definition TV.

"Karen and her team already stripped the apartment of anything useful," Morelli explained.

"Let's have a look anyways," I said.

We systematically worked our way through the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom. There were no notepads with clues, no cellphones under couches, and no computer.

"Nothing," I said as Morelli and I exited the apartment building.

"Let's look at Mendoza's place," Morelli suggested.

After a quick check of the rooftops for snipers, I looked at the police cruiser and the Porsche Cayenne parked together on the street.

"Do you want a ride?" I asked Morelli.

"Can I drive?" He replied. His eyes lit up a bit.

"No," I shook my head.

"Forget it," he said. "I'll meet you there."

One block later, I was in front of Enrique Mendoza's apartment building. There was a group of girls standing outside the apartment. By the looks of it, they were hookers. A few of them eyed up the Cayenne and sauntered a little closer to the tinted windows. When Morelli's police cruiser pulled up, they scattered, leaving all but two of them.

We gained access to Mendoza's first floor apartment, and started our search. It was similar to every other apartment building in the area, with its run-down interior and dated furnishings. There was a thread-bare couch, a king size mattress on the floor of the bedroom, and another big-screen TV. Enrique's personal effects were missing.

"Let me guess," I said to Morelli, "Karen's team has already been here."

"You guessed right," replied Morelli.

I sighed and looked out the living room window. One of the hookers was peering in at us, trying not to look interested in what we were doing.

"We have a watcher," I told Morelli.

He glanced out the window and the hooker turned back to the street and took a few steps away.

"We should ask her a few questions," Morelli said.

"I have a better idea," I said. "You said that no one is talking to the cops for fear of being shot dead, right?"

"Yup," he said.

"Let me talk to her," I said. "I'm not the cops."

Morelli considered me for a beat. "Fine."

Morelli left the apartment and got into his police cruiser. He would wait for me to finish and make sure I got out okay.

I waited in Mendoza's apartment until the hooker peered into the window again.

I motioned her to come inside. She looked up and down the street and disappeared from view.

A few moments later, she appeared in the doorway of Mendoza's apartment. She was Hispanic and curvy, dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a white button-up shirt. All of the buttons were undone, and tucked into her shorts, showing off a pink lace bra underneath.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I'm investigating the death of Enrique Mendoza," I said.

"But you're not a cop," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"I know who you are," she said. "You're Manoso's woman, aren't you?"

This was the second time in the last week that I'd been called that. Before Ranger's "death", he and I had an undefinable relationship. At best, I could describe him as a work acquaintance and friend with the occasional romantic involvement. Since Ranger's death, I realized that we were much more. And apparently, I had a reputation on the streets as belonging to him. In hindsight, it was probably what protected me whenever I was in this part of town.

"Yes," I said. "I was Ranger's."

"He was a good man," she said. "Sexy and badass as hell."

I couldn't argue with that.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Chantel," she said. "I was Enrique's girlfriend."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I automatically replied.

"I'm sorry for your loss too," Chantel said. She looked me up and down and considered me for a moment.

"Now we're widows," she said with sadness in her voice.

I understood where she was coming from and took a few steps towards her. "But you would do anything in your power to find out who killed him, right?"

She nodded her head.

I took out my card and handed it to her. "Give me a call when you're ready," I said.

She left the apartment and I waited a few minutes before I left too.

Morelli was leaning up against his police cruiser when exited onto the street. I looked up to the rooftops out of habit.

"The girlfriend knows something," said Morelli, crossing his arms over his chest.

I agreed and nodded my head. I looked up to the roof on the building behind Morelli and my heart almost stopped. Perched on the corner was a hitman with a rifle. He head was tucked in behind the scope and the barrel was aimed at me. I couldn't move. It was too late.

Suddenly, a black figure appeared on the rooftop and tackled the hitman. It was Ranger. I didn't see anything else.

"She was hiding something," Morelli continued, completely oblivious. "We should come back and ask her more questions."

I waited until my heart started beating and I could breathe again. "I gave her my number," I managed. "She'll call when she's ready."

I said good-bye to Morelli and got into the Cayenne. A beep came from my purse. I pulled out Ranger's flip phone and read an incoming text. It was an address. _Meet me here in 1 hour_, he said.

* * *

After a hyperventilation moment, a stop at Dunkin' Donuts and four anxiety-easing doughnuts later, I pulled up to the address that Ranger had texted me. I had gotten a few extra doughnuts, just in case Ranger hadn't eaten lunch.

I got out and walked up to a detached house in rough neighborhood in the industrial area of town near the button factory. Do I knock? I'm not sure what the procedure is when you're invited over by a guy who is supposed to be dead. I turned the doorknob and entered. I put the bag of doughnuts down on the kitchen counter.

I heard the sound of punches and occasional grunting from downstairs. When I entered the basement, I saw that Ranger had the hitman chained up from the ceiling. Blood was running down his face from a cut across his cheek. The hitman looked to be in his late-30s, in decent shape, and had blond hair. Ranger was wearing a light pair of boxer's gloves and was lightly glistening from sweat. As I descended the last stair, Ranger punched him in the gut.

"Ugh," the hitman moaned.

They both looked up as I entered. Ranger turned back to the hitman.

"Don't think I'm going to go easy on you now that she's here," Ranger said to him.

"I gotta take a shit," said the hitman. "Unless you want me messing up your floor."

Ranger unchained him from the ceiling and handcuffed him with his hands in front. He led the hitman over to a side bathroom, shut the door, and locked it from the outside.

We went back upstairs.

"He's definitely military and trained to take a beating," Ranger said.

"What is this place?" I asked. Not every house came equipped with a holding cell/torture chamber in the basement.

"It's owned by Rangeman," Ranger explained. "Sometimes it's used as a safe house and sometimes it's used for other things."

"I brought doughnuts," I said, pointing to the bag on the counter.

Ranger looked at me as if I grew two heads. "You brought doughnuts to an interrogation?" He asked.

"I thought you might be hungry."

He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a deep, hard, kiss with a lot of groping. "I love you."

He turned back to the stairs, and I moved to follow him.

"You don't have to watch this," Ranger said.

"This guy tried to kill me," I said. "I'm good."

We descended down the stairs. Ranger unlocked the bathroom as I held my gun at the ready in case the hitman tried anything. He came out of the bathroom with his handcuffed hands held out. Ranger moved him over to the chains hanging from the ceiling and hooked him up.

"Who do you work for?" Ranger demanded in a voice that would make anyone pee their pants and spill all their secrets. It was scary and in a weird way, kind of impressive.

"Your momma," the hitman replied.

The retaliation from Ranger was quick and brutal. He roundhouse-kicked the shooter in the side.

"Ugh," groaned the shooter. He'd probably be peeing blood for a week.

"For every answer I don't like," Ranger said, "I hurt you."

Ranger punched him in the gut, but instead of a fleshy sound, there was a clunk. Ranger lifted his shirt and found a small packet of C4 explosives taped to his waist, with a blinking light.

The hitman gave a faint laugh. "The boss would've killed me anyway for getting captured," he said. "At least I get to take you two down with me."

"Get out of here now," Ranger said, pushing me away.

"Oh, shit," I exclaimed, climbing the stairs.

We sprinted out of the house and ducked behind the Cayenne just as the bomb went off. The heat and debris from the explosion blew over us.

"Didn't you do a body cavity search?" I asked, over the sound of my ears ringing.

"It's not my favorite thing to do," replied Ranger.

As the dust settled, we heard a faint wail of sirens in the distance.

"Get in," Ranger said. "I'll drive."

As we pulled away, black smoke was steadily billowing into the Jersey air. Once we got on the main road, a series of fire trucks passed us. I turned to Ranger.

"Tank isn't going to like this," I said.

* * *

A few blocks out, my cellphone rang. It was Grandma.

"Where the heck are you?" she demanded. "You were supposed to meet us here at the caterers half an hour ago!"

Ugh. Mental head slap. I had forgotten about the caterers.

"I'll be right there," I said and hung up the phone.

"Don't suppose you want to come with me for lunch?" I asked Ranger.

"Not even a little," he said. "Drop me off at the next street."

* * *

When I arrived at the caterers, Lula was waiting outside by the door and was in a state.

"Don't you know it's rude to keep a hungry person waiting?" She said.

"Sorry," I apologized. "I was busy." Blowing up a house.

Inside, the caterers had set up a table with a dozen or so plates, each containing a variety of small portions of a variety of food. It looked like a meal for Hobbits.

"Look at how cute this is," Grandma said, sitting down and laying out a napkin on her lap.

"It's mini food," Lula said. "For little people or something."

"Each plate represents a different menu," the caterer explained. "On each is an appetizer, a salad, a hors d'oeuvre, a main course, side dish, an accompaniment, an aperitif, and a dessert selection."

We started tasting the foods. Everything was delicious.

"Say we want a bit of this bacon mushroom cheesy thing on this plate and the pork chop with the fruit stuff on top on this here other plate?" Lula asked the caterer. "Can we mix the menus?"

"What bacon mushroom thing?" Grandma asked. "I didn't get any of that."

"I ate it all," Lula said, while popping another hors d'oeuvre into her mouth. "It's not my fault. The portion sizes are too small."

"Could you get some more?" Grandma asked the caterer.

"It doesn't really work that way…" The caterer tried to say.

"I'm the bride," Grandma stated with crossed arms, "I have to try everything."

Resigned, the caterer retreated to the back room to get another plate ready.

"You need to stop eating everything," Grandma told Lula.

"I'm the assistant wedding planner," Lula said. "You need my advice and my expertise needs to be well researched." She reached over to the plate closest to Grandma and took a cheese ball hors d'oeuvre and popped it in her mouth.

"Hey!" Grandma exclaimed. "I was going to eat that!"

Then Grandma reached over to the plate closest to Lula and grabbed a chocolate mousse strawberry tart.

"Hey!" Lula exclaimed.

What happened next was a blur. Lula and Grandma started grabbing food off the plates and hoarding it onto the plate closest to them and shoving it in their mouths. They both grabbed a piece of chicken at the same time and a tug-of-war ensued.

"Let go granny," Lula warned.

"Over my dead body!" Grandma said.

The chicken must've been greasy, because the next thing I knew, both Lula and Grandma lost their grip on the chicken and the drumstick went flying across the room and hit the caterer in the head, who had just entered the room. The caterer was caught off guard and dropped the plate she was carrying with a crash.

"What is going on in here?" She exclaimed.

Both Grandma and Lula pointed at each other. "She did it."

"You need to leave and never come back," the caterer said.

* * *

Lula screeched off in her Firebird and I drove Grandma back home in the Cayenne. I couldn't imagine how she was going to explain this to my mother.

I decided to swing by Rangeman to pick up the information that Tank had got on Richard Black and Suzanne Moutis. I figured he would have left it with the front desk, but when I entered, the guy behind the desk just pointed to the elevator. I rode up and got off on the fifth floor and made my way to Tank's office.

I knocked and received a gruff, "Enter."

I walked in and found Tank hunched over his desk. "Close the door behind you," he said.

I did, and sat down in the chair across from him. He looked up at me with stern eyes and a posture that an interrogator would use.

"I just got word that a Rangeman safe house just blew up," Tank said.

"Was that a question?" I asked him.

Tank mumbled something under his breath and shuffled some papers. I think I was giving him a migraine.

"Here is the info on Suzanne Moutis and Richard Black," he said, handing me two files. "Suzanne Moutis' resume is so clean, it's got to be fake. It takes a lot of skill to trick the FBI. And Richard Black is so dirty, it's a miracle that he hasn't been fired, or put in jail."

"Thanks Tank," I said. I got up to leave and paused. "Sorry about the safe house."

Tank was already shuffling some papers around on his desk. "I don't want to know," he muttered.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It was morning and Morelli and I were back at the FBI office in downtown Trenton for another joint taskforce meeting.

Suzanne Moutis was summarizing how all her phone list suspects had died in car accidents, apartment fires, and drive-by shootings.

Richard Black winked at me, and addressed the group. "I've established some contacts who know a drug dealer that specializes in Caribbean cocaine. They want cash for the information. Three thousand dollars, a piece."

Karen O'Reilly was chewing the inside of her lip and was standing leaning against a whiteboard. Today she was dressed in a solid black suit with a pencil skirt and 3" pumps. I wondered if they were Christian Louboutin heels, when she called on Morelli and me.

"Morelli and Plum," Karen said. "What do you have?"

"Our phone list is a dead end," Morelli told the task force. "The names are so generic, we haven't been able to identify any suspects."

Karen didn't look very impressed. Morelli continued.

"We decided to try a different angle and are investigating Geraldo Chavez and Enrique Mendoza."

"They were two skips of mine who were shot with armor-piercing bullets," I said.

"We searched their apartments yesterday and interviewed the neighbors," said Morelli.

"Our field team has already been through those apartments," Karen said. "All of the items of interest have been catalogued and are being cross-referenced by our evidence team. I don't know what you expect to find."

"Something doesn't add up," I pushed. "All of the cocaine dealers have been Hispanic males, but the cocaine boss is female. Traditionally in that culture-"

"You don't know that for sure," Karen interjected. "The boss can still be male. Voice encryption can change the pitch and frequency of any voice. It could make you sound like Bozo the clown if you wanted to."

A few people snickered.

"People are dying," Karen said. "And we haven't gotten anywhere. Track down your leads and get me some information."

* * *

After the meeting I was loitering by the Porsche Cayenne in the underground FBI parking lot for lack of knowing what to do next. A bright red Alfa Romero sports car drove up and stopped. The driver's side window rolled down and Richard Black was sitting behind the wheel.

"Hey toots," he called to me. "Nice ride for a bounty hunter," he said, gesturing at the Porsche.

"It's transportation," I said. I looked at his car. "Kinda fancy for a cop."

Richard shrugged, "You gotta look the part. You know, to get in with the criminals."

He sped off and I got into the Cayenne.

My cell phone started to ring and the Bluetooth automatically answered it.

"We have a problem," It was Grandma. "After that incident at the caterer, my name has been blacklisted throughout town. Every catering place claims to be busy on my wedding day."

"So change your wedding day," I volunteered.

"Impossible!" Grandma said. "You're my wedding planner. You need to find somebody to make dinner for two hundred and sixty people."

Grandma hung up and I closed my eyes. I wonder if I could afford a plane ticket to Timbuktu this time of year.

* * *

I drove to the bonds office to try to beg Lula into helping out my Grandma.

Lula saw me as I walked in.

"Nuh-uh," she said, her voice rising. "No way. No how. I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no!"

"How do you know what I was going to say?" I asked.

"You were going to ask me to help your crazy Grandma," Lula said. "I don't want to speak ill of the old, but that woman gives new meaning to Bridezilla. It's like Bridezilla died and came back to life as a zombie Bridezilla, but somehow got reincarnated into crazy-ass zombie Bridezilla!"

Connie was behind her desk, filing her nails. She pointed her nail file at Lula and said, "She's been watching too many zombie movies on Netflix."

"It don't matter," Lula continued. "Nothing you say can make me be that woman's wedding planner."

"Please," I begged. "I don't know anything about planning a wedding."

It was true. My mother had planned most of the wedding to my ex-husband Dickie Orr. I was so clueless I didn't even know how many people came, let alone that I married a cheating asshole. I really needed Lula's help.

"Tough luck, buttercup," Lula said. She plopped herself down on the couch and crossed her arms in front of her.

"I'll give you a car," I blurted out.

"What?" Lula said.

"What?" Connie said.

"I'll give you a car," I repeated.

"I already have a car," Lula said. "My firebird."

"I'll give you a Mercedes," I said. "A SUV. Black."

Lula's eyebrow shot up.

"It was Ranger's. He gave it to me when he died and I'll give it to you if you plan my Grandma's entire wedding."

"Ranger's Mercedes?" Lula asked, "Shit, that ain't just a SUV. I bet it's got some cool secret compartment where he hid all those Batman gadgets."

"Is it a deal?" I pressured.

"Yeah," Lula agreed. "Deal."

Connie looked at me with a dumbstruck expression, "How many cars did Ranger give you when he died?"

* * *

I drove back to my apartment and decided to do some spring cleaning. I scrubbed the bathroom, cleaned Rex's cage, and pushed my vacuum around. Truth was, my apartment didn't really need it, but I was at a dead end with the cocaine case and I didn't have any skips to track down. I hated this feeling. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring with a lead.

Just then, my cell phone rang. "Eek!" I jumped a foot in the air. I didn't realize that would work.

"Hello," I said.

"Is this Stephanie?" the female voice said.

"Yes," I said.

"This is Chantel," she said. "Enrique's girlfriend. I want to help."

* * *

A/N: I haven't posted in a while and wanted to get this short blurb up. I will get the rest up soon.


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